


Masks Within Masks

by Bardothren



Category: Pocket Monsters | Pokemon - All Media Types
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-29
Updated: 2018-09-17
Packaged: 2018-09-20 16:42:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 65
Words: 134,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9500552
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bardothren/pseuds/Bardothren
Summary: Genetically engineered as part of an experiment on pokemon, Subject Seven spent her whole life inside a laboratory cell, trying in futility to escape, until a fateful day gave her a chance at her own life.  Only problem is, that life is within the ranks of Team Rocket.





	1. Chapter One

Subject Seven, a Zoroark with a matted mane of red hair, claws clipped short enough to expose her fingertips, and dull blue eyes, hunched over the screen of an old, battered laptop. She had once believed that the strings of text attached to the forums she visited were real people, people that she could beg for help if she found the right words, until Ghetsis showed her the room of psychologists he had on staff, there for the sole purpose of teaching her how to act human. Now, only a part of her attention was on their fingers as they raced across the keyboard.

The cell of gray metal surfaces consisted of a bed just large enough to accommodate her tall, slender frame, a sturdy metal table with one matching chair, a shower, and a toilet, all visible to anyone standing in front of the cell’s opening. Deceptively promising freedom, the removed wall was guarded by a vaporous, transparent green barrier that disintegrated organic matter.

Beyond the barrier that separated her from the rest of the material world, a thick metal door cordoned off the humans’ research area and the holding cells for their test subjects. Seven could only see two occupied across from her, one holding an amorphous pink blob designated “Fourteen” and the other housing a carefully tended blue serpent, known as “Twelve.” The serpent would, from time to time, raise its slender neck and gaze around with the same dull expression Seven saw in her laptop’s reflection, before resting its head again on its tail. The blob, when it ever bothered to stir, which it hardly ever did, stared intently at her with beady black eyes and an unnerving, wobbly grin.

After a few minutes, the door opened. An enormous metal cart shoved its way through the opening, holding tray after covered tray of food. Seven could smell her rations, a platter of chopped berries and a raw slab of beef, as a tired-looking attendant placed the tray on the floor and shoved it through the barrier. The green mist parted around the metal, hissing against the gleaming surface. Seven had tried, once, punching a hole through the lid, sticking her arm through it, and hitting a safety switch right next to her cell. After that incident, an electrician rewired everything into the other room, and her trays, along with every surface of her abode and object within it, were replaced with a material sturdy enough to defy her power.

She plucked the meat off the plate with her fingers and swallowed it whole, and then she plucked the berry pieces one by one and crunched them between her teeth. She left a small cluster of tiny red berries off to the side. Just as she had reduced the sixth berry to a squishy pulp between her pointed teeth, the door opened again. The hair rose on her neck as a cane thumped on the metal floor, filling the hall with an echoing ring. His coat was black, regal in appearance with a high, stiff collar, billowing sleeves, and a trailing cape. Dirty-blonde hair, going gray at the roots, One eye, the color of salted ice, regarded her with faint amusement, while the other, obscured behind a blocky red monocle, zipped back and forth as it read walls of text and images on its screen.   
Ghetsis walked up to Seven’s cell and peered inside. “Hello, Subject Seven. How was the food today?”

Seven shivered and looked away from him. “It was fine.”

“Good to hear.” He tapped his cane on the floor. “Today’s tests are cancelled. I’ll be doing more work with Three, and after that, I have a meeting with the other Sages.”

Seven struggled to keep a smile off her face. Ghetsis leaned forward, nearly touching the barrier with his nose, and said, “Behave while I’m gone.”

Seven’s heart raced, and she twitched between the his icy gaze. “Yes sir.” 

Ghetsis leaned back and gave her a wry smile. “Have a nice day off, Seven.”

Seven waited for the footsteps to recede down the room before letting a smile expose her teeth. She tucked the metal cover beneath the table on her legs and plucked the cluster of red berries on her plate. She snapped one into her mouth, grimacing at the harsh metallic taste, and after she verified that no one was looking, pressed the metal tray up against the underside of the table, covering a tiny sensor hidden there. Through some experimentation, she had learned that the sensor could trace any use of her power, at which point a guard would walk over and inspect her cell. The guard never came if she covered it up.

Free to use her abilities undetected, Seven covered each of the six cameras with a still image of her sitting at the laptop, as though watching a video. Then, after verifying that no one was watching, she rolled the handful of red berries across the floor and into the barrier. They vanished as they entered the vaporous green space and emitted a harsh cloud of green gas that blended in with the barrier, obscuring the other side.

While holding the tray in place, Seven stood up and shoved the chair underneath the table, propping the tray cover over the sensor. Then she walked over to the shower and peeled back the plastic liner on the bottom, exposing a large hole. In exploring her cramped confines, she learned that, after she had nearly escaped last time, they had never replaced the metal plumbing with the more robust alloy. Months of careful excavation chipped away at the metal and concrete beneath her cell until she hit a corridor of electrical cables snaking through the facility. Though the space was cramped, hot, and almost too dark for her to stomach, she found she could squeeze through.

A sound of loud roaring echoed into her cell. Seven paused for a moment, listening for approaching footsteps. Once the roars reached a fortissimo, she dropped down through the hole and pulled the liner back until only a sliver of light entered. Her skin crawled in the darkness, and she ached to pull back the liner, but she forced herself through the wires. Seven followed a huge black cable over to an emergency hatch located just above a construction project within the building. She watched and listened through a hole in the ceiling as men in orange vests and yellow hats drilled holes in walls, wriggled cables through, and bolted light fixtures into place. First, she picked out individual voices as they asked for screws and drill bits and connected them to faces and names. Then she waited for a particularly noisy drill to hit a beam while the other workers were looking away from her side of the hall. She dropped down and made herself invisible. No light came from her, but that meant no light reached her either. No darkness could be more complete.

Seven feared the darkness. Darkness meant scalpels biting into her skin, syringes shoved into her veins, and straps binding her to an operation table. It stung even more when Ghetsis told her that some of those procedures were to drive that fear home. Now, turning invisible was as suffocating and enticingly easy to break as holding one’s breath an inch from the surface of a pond. Goading herself forward, she counted each step she took. 

One. Two. Three. Invisible nylon straps jerked around her wrists.

Seven. Eight. Nine. Two phantom needles jabbed into her forearms.

Twelve. Thirteen. Fourteen. A thin, icy sensation split her chest.

Twenty. Twenty-one. Twenty-two. She hoped no one would notice the drops of sweat pooling on the floor with each jagged, silent breath.

Twenty-six. At that number, Seven turned, leapt forward, and pushed against a door. When she heard it shut with a soft click, she lifted the darkness and slumped against the wall, taking long, deep breaths and rubbing her wrists. Her heartbeat thudded in her ears as she strained her hearing out the door. 

After five minutes, she heard the clomp clomp of leather boots stomping towards the other bathroom. She waited for the other door to close before cautiously opening her own, creeping into the other bathroom and standing beside the occupied stall. One minute later, the man zipped up his pants and opened the stall door. Seven grabbed his throat, shoved him against a wall, and pinched a blood vessel leading up to his brain. She held him fast as he flailed his arms, battering her face and chest with blows that grew progressively weaker before he blacked out.

Seven stopped just short of killing the man, letting him slump to the floor. She rummaged around his front pocket until he found his wallet. Inside, she found a shiny white keycard. She bundled this into the fur behind her head. After that, she closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and wrapped herself in an illusory copy of the unconscious man. In the mirror, she could see minor imperfections in the disguise. One strap on the jacket was missing, and the pants were a touch too bright. She hoped it would be enough to fool the workers.

When she walked out of the bathroom stall, she passed all the other workers and approached a door at the end of the hallway. Ten feet away from the door, she turned and said, imitating the unconscious man’s voice, “Hey, I’m getting a snack. Anyone want anything?”

“A snack?” one of the workers snorted. “What happened to that diet of yours?”

Seven smiled and shrugged. “What can I say? A man’s gotta eat.”

One man called for a bag of chips, and two more asked for water. Seven nodded, accepted bills from them, and walked to the bare metal door. She glanced back, making sure no one watched as she pulled the keycard out of her hair, swiped it on the door’s reader, and tucked it back in. The reader’s light turned green, and the door clicked open. Seven’s hand shook as she opened it. 

She walked into a small reception area, with a few cloth-cushioned chairs, three vending machines, and a bored receptionist flipping through an old issue of GameInformer behind a large desk. Seven gave the receptionist a small wave, which he ignored, and walked towards the doors. Beyond the glass doors, she could see the parking lot. Two distinct groups of cars were parked on either side of the lot, one housing shiny luxury vehicles, and the other, banged-up, rusting pickups. Beyond the bright black asphalt, a small hill lined with flowering shrubs obscured the road ahead. Looking up, Seven saw the sky for the first time, a brilliant light blue with a billowing white cloud floating through it, a real sky, and not a shallow image strung together with pixels and hex code. 

“Hey, where are you going?” the receptionist called.

Seven turned back. The young man had set down his magazine and had his hand over a large red button on the counter.

“I left money in my car,” she answered.

“What about what’s in your hand?”

Seven glanced down at the green bills crushed in her left hand. “That’s the other guys’. I’ll be back in a sec.”

The receptionist stared at him for a moment, and then shrugged. “Alright, I’ll buzz you out,” the man replied. “Make sure you follow procedure next time.”

“Thanks.”

Still gazing in wonder at the sky, Seven took a step forward and placed a hand on the door handle. So transfixed she was on the scenery in front of her, she didn’t notice a bright blue light flicker to life above her. After one pace through it, all the energy was sapped out of her limbs. Her legs crumbled beneath her, and she collapsed to the floor. In front of her, she saw her arms, stripped bare of her illusion. She struggled to raise it, but she couldn’t even make her fingers budge.

She heard the receptionist drop his magazine and slam his hand on the button. Sirens sounded across the facility, and a metal barricade slammed down inches in front of her outstretched arm. Minutes later, security guards and researchers swarmed around her. Manacles were clapped to her arm, her hair was frisked and stripped of the keycard, and she was dragged through a private entrance and thrown into a different, bare cell. From this vantage point, she could see cells one and three, housing large red fox-like creature and a hulking, rocky green behemoth respectively. One sat on the floor, facing away from the cell’s window, while Three thrashed and gnawed at sturdy chains binding its arms and legs while researchers injected sedatives into its armpit.

The thumping of the cane announced Ghetsis’ approach. Seven shrank into the corner and pressed her face against the cold metal.

“I told you to behave,” he said flatly. “Nevertheless, I’m impressed that you made it that far. I’ll see to it that you have a nice meal after a couple days.”

Ghetsis left. Hunger gnawed at her as each hour crawled past. With no bed, no desk, no chair, no nothing, all she could do was curl up in the corner and wait for sleep to take her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Changelog:
> 
> 5/13/2018 - replaced the nameless professor with Ghetsis, reworked the Ghetsis/Seven dynamic, and touched up the grammar.


	2. Chapter Two

Seven woke up stiff and tired the next morning. The smells of crushed berries and meat juices drifted from the other cells. One researcher walked towards her cell with a covered tray, peered inside, and turned around. Her stomach rumbled angrily as the food sped away from her, but Seven stayed in the corner.

Ghetsis came into the lab shortly after she woke. For hours, the ringing of his cane on the floor filled the room. Each tap made her flinch. However, he didn’t approach her cell until every muscle in her body, from her stomach to her legs, her arms and her jaw, plagued her with cramps. He loomed over her, a black shadow that cast its own darkness. Seven’s eyes widened when she saw the pills in her hands.

The Sage sealed them in a spherical metal capsule and tossed it through the barrier. A metal water bottle followed it through. “Now that you know how to fool those sensors,” he said, “I can no longer let you keep your powers. Take the pills, and I will give you some painkillers later.”

Seven hesitated and looked up at Ghetsis. His monocle adjusted its lens, focused on her face. Its glowing red gaze held her own until she looked away.

With a shudder, she cracked the sphere open and dumped the contents in her mouth. She washed it down with all the water in the canteen, sloshing much of it onto the fur on her muzzle. The pills stuck in her throat until she forced them down.

“Good,” Ghetsis said. “I will postpone your tests until the pain has worn off.”

 

 

Seven meekly nodded. As Ghetsis turned away, the headache started. It was just stress at that point, Seven knew, but taking slow, deep breaths and remembering the vast, blue expanse outside her prison did nothing to dull the pain.

An hour later, the pill started its work. She felt the warm, black pool at the back of her mind slip away, emptying as though someone pulled the stopper out from under it. She held onto it as long as she could, watched it trickle from her grasp like quicksilver. Each drop that left her was a nail driven in between her eyeballs. Her fur drank up her tears. Flashes of color exploded in her head, and each spark was a crown of nettles shoved over her head.

When the painkillers came, Seven shoved them into her mouth and took long, shuddering swallows of water. She gasped for air and coughed when water went into her lungs. Gradually, the pain ebbed away, but she was left with an emptiness, a void as cold as a grave, lurking in the back of her head. Dregs of power, like a tiny pool circling a bath drain, offered sweet relief, but Seven knew that exhausting that tiny supply would leave her with debilitating seizures.

A bed was brought into her room, not the memory-foam from her room, but an old, musty spring mattress. The springs dug into her back as she lay on it. Too exhausted to roll in vain attempt for a more comfortable position, Seven’s eyes drifted shut, and she wandered in dreamless, aching half-sleep.

A half-perceived sound made her eyes snap open. It was like a clap of thunder, powerful, but distant. Silence fell over the other Pokémon in the room, and even Subject Three ceased its grunts and roars. The researchers, noticing the sudden hush, looked warily at one another as they calibrated their instruments and prepared doses of medicine.

Another bang echoed through the building, this one close enough for the humans to hear. The screeching of metal and a whiff of acrid chemical accompanied it. All at once, chaos broke loose. Sirens wailed overhead. The lights overhead went out. In their place, flashing red alarms cut through the darkness. The locks on the doors slammed shut. Pokémon screamed and roared in their cages. Researchers scrambled in all directions, some seeking cover beneath tables, others scrambling for an emergency hatch near the center of the lab. From a station overhead, three guards thundered down a flight of stairs, bearing bulletproof vests and assault rifles. They took positions behind counters and tables, aiming their rifles at the door far to the right of Seven’s cell.

Then, with a thunderous boom, the door burst into the room, bouncing past Seven’s cell and skidding to a stop beyond her view. A thick cloud of black smog rolled into the room, engulfing all the light outside and making everyone cough violently. She heard body after body collapse. She held her breath as the smog approached her cell, but the gaseous compounds crackled against the cell walls, bouncing off of the charged air.

A gust blew all the smog out the vents, revealing a room littered with asphyxiated corpses. One guard had the quick thinking to hold his breath. Feeling the wind blow the smoke away, he raised a pistol and fired three shots before a flurry of bullets turned his head into a pulpy ruin, spraying blood all over the ceiling and floor. He tumbled to his right and back, spilling his brains onto the floor, and dropped his gun. It slid towards Seven’s cell, passing through the barrier with a shower of sparks and stopping at her feet. She quickly grabbed it, fumbling a bit with the levers and buttons on the gun. A red switch flipped out, and a clip ejected from the handle. Seven shoved it back in place and hid the gun in her hair. She crouched behind the bed as footsteps echoed through the room. 

“Sir, there’s a hatch over here!”

“Crack it open and throw a few grenades down there. Kill them all. Then get to that server room the client mentioned and toast it all.”

Wailing metal, followed by a thunderous boom, made Seven’s fur stand on end. A few more gunshots punctured the cacophony of Pokémon cries.

After a moment, someone shouted, “Where the fuck is Number Seven?” She shivered and bundled herself together.

“I – I don’t know, sir! The cell’s empty!” 

“Then open the door and find it! She has to be in there somewhere.”

“Remember what the dossier said, sir. It’s probably making itself invisible. If we’re not careful, it could slip right past us.”

Wild, maniacal laughter echoed through the room, followed by a gunshot. “That’s what we brought these cans for, isn’t it?” the first voice asked, rattling something metal so violently it mimicked the sound of a machine gun. Now open that door, get spraying, and find it!”

“Yes sir!”

A high-pitched fwoosh announced the activation of a pokeball. Then, a faint, tingling sound reached Seven’s ears, followed by lots of harsh pssh pssh as men emptied spray cans into the seventh cell.

“Nothing, sir! No sign of anything in the cell!”

“What do you mean there’s nothing there! Spray every inch of this place and find it!” Then a radio clicked, and the angry voice said, “Spray down all the exits, and make sure nothing gets past you. Seven’s missing. Let it escape, and I’ll tell Giovanni that it’s because of you bumbling idiots.”

Giovanni. The name sounded familiar, but specific information eluded her. As she thought through her clouded mind, the voice said, “Crack the cells open and take everything. And for fuck’s sake, don’t stop spraying!”

Footsteps clomped over to the even cells, and another cell was cracked open. A snarl was cut short by the fwoop of a dart gun. Then a rustling sound, punctuated by lots of spraying, suggested that Subject Six was thrown in a sack. 

As they moved on to Four, Seven pondered her options. Exposing herself seemed like a completely stupid idea, as did pretending to be another subject. She wondered how long she could keep up her invisibility with her diminished supply of power and realized it didn’t matter. With those spray cans, she had nowhere to hide. That left looking human. Although she saw and heard what had happened to everyone else, she asked herself if she’d rather be dead or subject to any number of unknown experiments, and made her choice. Digging for the dregs of power, she imagined a masculine human face, with a clean-shaven chin, plain brown eyes, and long ruffled brown hair. Calling her power felt akin to swimming through honey, sweet but arduous. Struggling through the faint numbing sensation, she projected a simple lab coat and pants around herself, and completed the image with the black leather shoes worn by the dead security guard. Then she waited.

Seven wondered how she should act. Blubbering idiot, silently weeping victim, shell-shocked and numb, these all seemed perfect personas for the situation, but she felt none of the terror required to play those parts. Instead, she took a deep breath, stood, faced the door, raised her hands over her head, and waited. Two more cells were cracked open before someone walked in front of hers. As the uniformed man did a double-take, Seven saw a giant red R stamped onto his black uniform and cap. Again, she felt the detail nagging at her, but she brushed the intuition aside.

The grunt pointed his pistol at her and shouted “We got a live one!”

“Then fix that!” a voice ordered back. “No witnesses!”

As the grunt cocked the gun, she deepened her voice to a soft, masculine tenor and asked, “Need help finding Subject Seven?”

The grunt flinched and lowered the gun. “Hey boss! He says he can help us find Seven!”

Another man walked over. His uniform was solid white, except for gold embroidery on the sleeves and the red R on his chest. He had extremely short blonde hair, a haggard goatee, beady blue eyes, and a long, thin white scar that stretched from his left ear, through his lips, to the center of his chin. The Admin cracked his knuckles as he examined Seven.

“Clever son of a bitch. So, you know where Subject Seven is?”

“I don’t. But I can probably figure it out.”

He snorted. “Probably. He’s full of it. Just kill him.”

“What’s the harm in having me help? It’s not like I can escape anyways.” She lowered her hands a touch and coughed as her chest tightened up. “Just promise me you’ll let me live. I’ll help you, and I won’t tell a soul what happened here.”

The Admin stroked his goatee and said, “Why not. Dekkard, spring him loose and search him.”

A magneton floated in front of the door and sent sparks into the wall. With the crackling sound of fried electronics, the barrier vanished, and the grunt stepped forward. Seven took a deep breath and struggled to keep the illusion together as the grunt padded down false, empty pockets.

“Nothing on him sir.” Then he searched the desk and laptop. “Doesn’t look like he called for help either.”

“The cops show up early, and you’re a dead man,” the admin warned Seven. “Now get looking. Dekkard, keep a gun on him at all times. Shoot him if he tries anything.”

“Yes sir.” Dekkard stepped behind her and prodded her back with the gun, just missing her own weapon by an inch. “Get moving.”

Seven looked around as she walked and quickly realized that a shootout wouldn’t be an option. Aside from ten grunts, all armed, there were also four mightyena, two raticate, and a crobat patrolling the room, searching for her. Most of the cells were already emptied, and carts heaped with brown cloth sacks waited by the main door. The exits were sprayed down with a sticky yellow substance, as were the inside of every cell and large patches of surfaces surrounding every ventilation duct and hiding spot. Her own cell had been thoroughly coated halfway up the walls. Patches of the floor were tramped down with multiple sets of footprints.

“Try the ceilings,” she told them. “It could be hiding up there.”

Dekkard whistled another grunt over and pointed at the ceiling. She took a comically huge spray can, shook it in both hands, and squirted it at the ceiling, filling the air with a fine yellow mist. Once the ceiling was coated and the dust fell, Seven stepped inside, sticking to the tramped-down trail. She meandered through the room, pretending to check each nook and cranny, before approaching the shower. The steps ended just out of her reach of the plastic lining. She eased her way onto the sticky, rubbery substance and felt it squish into her toes. Then she examined the shower for a minute before slowly peeling back the liner.

“Well, here’s your problem,” she said. Two grunts tramped inside and examined the hole she found.

“Sir! The lab rat found a hole!”

“What!” the Admin roared. He ran into the cell and shoved the grunts and Seven aside. Then he pinned Seven against the wall by her throat and pointed his pistol at the side of her head.

“You have five seconds to tell me where that thing goes,” he growled.

Seven felt her head going faint, either from the pill’s side effects or the pressure on her neck. “Let me see and I’ll tell you,” Seven whispered through his grasp. “I didn’t get a good look in.”

The pressure lifted, and she was shoved towards the hole. She resisted the urge to catch herself on the shower, potentially leaving an obvious handprint, and instead tumbled into the hole. Once inside, she hastily crawled forward, out of sight of the hole, and thought through her options. She could try losing them through the maze of electrical cables and make a dash for the exit, shooting anyone at the front, or she could stay their hostage and probably end up dead. She started crawling forward, but then she remembered the light at the front entrance and crawled back to the cell.

“It’s an electrical shaft,” she said. “There’s a few maintenance hatches scattered through the building. The closest one is a few hallways back, by the front entrance.”

“You’re lucky you decided not to run,” the Admin replied, tossing a pokeball in his hand. “I was this close to having my Weezing smoke you out.”

Her head spun as she clambered out of the hole. She pinned her back against the rugged concrete edge and hoisted her feet onto the floor, then she pushed up and stumbled forward a few paces before catching herself on a trodden piece of floor. Two guns swiveled towards her as she got up.

“As much as I hate to say it, odds are it’s gone already,” she said. 

The Admin swore violently and raised his gun. “That makes you a dead man.”

Panic and nausea both struck her as she stared down the barrel of the pistol, making her say the first words that came to mind. “I’ll join!” she shouted as she ducked. “Just don’t kill me!”

A shot rang through the air, and Seven fell backwards, covering her ears and expecting blood to start pooling on the floor. When she realized she didn’t feel any pain, she looked back. The gun, smoke trailing from the end, was pointed slightly to the left.

“We had a deal, and you failed to hold your end of the bargain,” he growled. Then he put the pistol away. “If we weren’t so short on men, I’d kill you and be done with it, but Giovanni might find use for you. Besides, we already got Ghetsis, so it’s not a complete waste. Get up, and follow Dekkard.”

Packs of Machoke and Hariyama pushed the carts through the door. One held the bloody, mangled body of Ghetsis. His lab coat had a dozen crimson holes, and his monocle was missing. The grunts followed after and passed the carts, guns raised, checking each corner with a mirror before sending the convoy forward. The Admin and Seven trailed behind.

“Are you taking them out the front door?” she asked.

“Yeah. Why you ask?”

“There’s a security measure that stops all subjects from leaving. If you don’t disable it, you may end up killing them.”

The admin smiled, forcing his scar open slightly. “Good thing I kept you alive then. What is it?”

“Some sort of light right above the main exit. It glows blue.”

The Admin nodded and spoke into his radio. From further down the hallway came a muffled crash of glass. When they arrived at the front lobby, she first saw a gaping hole in the ceiling, where the light once was. Then she saw the receptionist, slumped over the front counter with a bullet wound through his head. His magazine was drenched with blood.

As the carts passed through the door, the admin chuckled. “Problem solved. Now get moving.”

Seven tensed up as she passed under the hole. Bits of dust trickled down, coating her shoulders in white powder. She shook it off, and looked up at the sky. It looked just as brilliant as yesterday, clear of clouds and heart-achingly blue. Then she looked eastward, over the building, and saw the sun rising over the flat metal roof. She squinted and rubbed at her aching eyes, blinking tears out of them before anyone saw.

Ten boxy green vans with a logo for an electric company were parked next to the entrance. The carts were loaded in the backs of eight of them and fastened in place. Seven was guided by gunpoint to another. The back was dark and cramped, full of seats arranged around the walls. She sat down in one nearest the light coming in through the front window and buckled herself in. The admin took a seat across from her, and a grunt trained a gun on her as he sat to her left.

“So, newbie,” the Admin said, “What’s your name?”

Before she could stop herself, she started saying Seven, but changed it last-second to “Steven.”

“Steven. Last name?”

Her mind raced, and she said the first word she could think of. “Sun.”

“Steven Sun. Welcome to Team Rocket.” He took his pistol out and popped the clip out, counting the bullets before sliding it back in place and pointing it at her. “The day you stop being a member is the day you die. Remember that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Changelog:
> 
> 5/13/2018 - added in Ghetsis stuff, and tweaked the grammar a bit.


	3. Chapter Three

During the van ride to wherever the hell the Rockets were taking Seven, she spent the time thinking around the one pressing problem that became more and more apparent each time the van hit a bump in the road. Her head throbbed like a trampled toe, her vision flickered, and a dull, prickling ache made every breath an iron maiden. As the pool of power in her head dwindled, and she was forced to edit details, starting with removing the laces on her shoes, then the seams on her pants, and finally the pockets on her coat.

The illusory face must have conveyed her internal struggle, because Dekkard said, “You alright? You’re looking pretty pale.”

In a haze, she mumbled, “I think it’s the smoke.”

“Say what?”

Seven repeated herself more forcefully, punctuating it with a loud cough. Dekkard went pale and leaned across the van, relaying the information to his boss. The Admin leaned forward and jerked Seven’s chin up.

“Eh, you’ll sleep it off,” he said. Then he told Dekkard, “Get him to a single cell once we get there. No sense having everyone listen to him coughing.”

Ten torturous minutes later, the van stopped. Seven was dragged out of the back and pushed through a series of hallways. Though she had no idea where she was, the concrete walls, lack of windows, and harsh lighting suggested an underground bunker. Glancing back, she saw the carts, one laden with Ghetsis’ corpse, as Pokémon unloaded them and carted them off. Without his eyepiece, he looked old and plain, just another man. Other Pokémon wheeled in a liquid-filled storage tank, and Ghetsis was dumped inside with a splash.

Seven stumbled and fell, but Dekkard held her up by the shoulder. “Watch where you’re going,” he said. “It’s not far, so just hang in there.”

Perhaps it wasn’t far, but the throbbing in her head made each step a mountain and each turn a centrifuge. By the time they arrived, sweat drenched Seven’s fur, and her vision had faded to a narrow, gray window.

Dekkard opened the door, pulled the sheets back, and lowered Seven onto the bed. With the last of her strength, Seven pulled the covers tight over herself, prayed no one would check on her, and passed out.

*******

As Dekkard hauled the new recruit off to their quarters, Admin Fisher turned down a desolate hall, where the hustle and noise of the crime syndicate faded to a soft buzz in the back of his ear. He passed four sets of doors, one with his own name mounted on the front, two others for Celeste and Colson, and a fourth left blank.

At the end of the hallway, sitting at a dead end, was one last door. The wood was tastefully refined, polished, honed, intricately carved with angular, geometric patterns, implying status without stating it. Carved into the wood was the name Giovanni.

Admin Fisher wiped sweat from his brow. His hands lingered over the tiny, rough patch that marked the top of his scar, and he stopped to trace its path down his cheek and to his upper lip. Then he shook his head, gritted his teeth, and jerked the door open.

Giovanni’s office, at first glance, looked like an unkempt patch of rainforest. Huge leafy ferns blotted out the lights from the ceiling, the carpet had the look and texture of earthy loam, and a waterfall trickled down the stone façade to the left. However, upon closer inspection, traces of human design transformed unkempt nature to orderly decoration. The ferns were planted in symmetry, with exactly the same number of fronds growing from each pot, and each plant, though free to grow in its own direction, reached the same height and size. The stone wall had rivulets carved into it that channeled the spray of water into a stone basin, keeping the carpet dry. Despite all the earth contained in clay pots embedded in the floor, not a single speck of dirt sullied the carpeting.

A mahogany desk stood in the center of the room, carved with patterns that mirrored his door. Its top surface was polished smooth and gleamed from amber varnish painted into the wood’s grain. A small stack of paper occupied one side of the desk, and the other was reserved for a cup of coffee on a brown velvet coaster.

Behind the desk, lounging in a leather chair, was Giovanni. He kept his thin gray hair meticulously trimmed and groomed with cedar-scented hair gel. His bony, angular cheeks and sharp green eyes, combined with think arching eyebrows and a slender nose, gave the syndicate boss an efficient, predatory appearance. He wore a gray Armani suit, pressed so thoroughly that it outlined his lean, muscular frame like his own skin. His hands were scrubbed clean of dirt, sweat, and calluses, and a bottle of hand sanitizer was built into the edge of his desk for easy, discreet access.

When the Admin finally confessed to his failure, blushing so furiously that his scar looked like a streak of lightning through a twilit sky, Giovanni felt no rage. Rather, he had to work himself into a fury, divorced of emotion, to sufficiently reprimand the quivering failure kneeling before him. He lifted his right hand, and his eyes darted to a mug of hot coffee sitting in front of him, about where a right-handed blow to his polished mahogany desk would fall. Giovanni didn’t like how the mug was perched near the edge of his coaster, enough that a significant disturbance could cause it to tip, staining his carefully pressed suit and neat stacks of documents. Instead, he kept his right hand stationary, stood, and hefted his left hand high into the air before slamming it, at an angle designed to soften the impact on his hand, onto a short stack of papers. Even through the insulation, his blow made the desk dully echo with the force of his induced anger. Fisher shrank away from the sound.

Giovanni engineered his voice to convey carefully strangled rage. “Tell me everything.”

Fisher threw himself into a furious, babbling account of the trip there, disabling the front door alarms, killing the receptionist and everyone they saw in the hallways, breaching the door, destroying the server rooms, killing everyone. All perfectly in step with the plan. Then, no Seven. Cell was empty when they got there. Sprayed everywhere, nothing. Found a survivor in a cell-

“Wait,” Giovanni said. Fisher stopped as abruptly as a truck hitting a concrete wall. The presence of this survivor bothered him somehow, but he couldn’t fit it together.

“The survivor was in a cell?”

“A locked cell,” the admin added. “He was clever, I’ll give him that.”

Giovanni pulled a tablet out of a drawer and brought up a detailed layout of the lab. Of particular interest to him was the absence of locks in the research area.

“Was there anything in the cell?”

Fisher gave him a thorough description of every item in the room, down to the contents of each desk drawer. After asking for more details about the laptop and hearing about its recent internet history, he ordered Fisher to continue the story.

Convinced the survivor to help them find Seven. Searching the cell, finding the hole under the shower-

“Stop.” Giovanni took a sip of his lukewarm coffee, taking the moment to collect his thoughts. Then he asked, “How long did this take?”

“About a minute.”

“When was the hole made?”

“Don’t know.”

“The room’s contents?”

“Empty.”

Giovanni let these clues settle into place, like grains of sand working their way to the bottom of a pile of pebbles, as he took a long swallow. Then he wiped his lips with a handkerchief from a drawer and signaled for his Admin to continue.

Pushed survivor into the hole. Learned where it led. Ran out of time, took all the Pokémon and the survivor. Survivor fell ill due to residual smoke in the hole, and was now in solitary.

Giovanni didn’t point out the smoke was already gone before Seven’s cell was opened. He also decided not to correct Fisher’s incomplete information about Subject Seven, about the fact it could create realistic illusions.

“Did you happen to get this survivor’s name?”

Fisher told him. With a swipe of his fingers, Giovanni brought up the employment register for Harmonia Labs. The name Steven Sun was ostentatiously absent from the list.

“Employment status?”

Fisher guessed a researcher, based on the lab coat.

“Continue.”

The Admin concluded the tale with a clean getaway with all the remaining Pokémon in the facility, and added that they were being added to premium storage as he spoke. He also added Ghetsis’ corpse to the list, along with Admin Colson’s continued investigation of the facility grounds. Giovanni held up his hand and said, “Leave me. I’ll decide your punishment later.”

Fisher went pale again. He bowed and left, gently closing the door behind him. Giovanni thumbed a button underneath his desk, and the door locked itself with a soft click. Then he accessed the security camera footage with his tablet. Thumbing past the break rooms, office areas, and hallways, he stopped on solitary bedrooms and scrolled through camera after camera until he found the room occupied by “Steven Sun.” The room was still registered as unoccupied. With a flick of his fingers, he changed its status to ‘Do Not Disturb’.

The figure in the bed was completely obscured by a blanket. He rewound the footage to when they were brought into the room and watched them enter the bed three times, but he saw no gap in the disguise.

Wrinkles furrowed Giovanni’s brow. He reviewed all the information he had on Subject Seven, from Ghetsis’ audio logs to written reports of intellectual and behavioral tests. Upon first assessing this information, he assumed Seven would want nothing more than freedom, a desire he manipulated every day in countless peons within the syndicate’s structure. Yet, the contradiction of behavior and supposed desire puzzled him. Had Seven wanted freedom, all it had to do was, once outside, turn invisible and slip away. From there, it could assume any identity it wished, and no one would ever find it.

He picked up the mug, and realized it felt cold against his fingers. He rummaged around his desk for a pokéball labeled “Torkoal”, called it out on the carpet, and set his mug atop its rugged, hot shell. After twenty seconds, steam wafted from the heated coffee. He called back the Pokémon, dropped the ball back into the pile, and took a sip. The heat was just below the threshold of pain, if sipped carefully, and the coffee stayed smooth and earthy despite getting cooked again.

Giovanni squirted sanitizer into his hands, letting the heady scent of isopropyl alcohol tickle his nose as he rubbed it into the spaces between his fingers. Then he moved the solitary room’s footage to a corner on his tablet as he went back to reviewing his documents.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Changelog:
> 
> 5/27/18 - made some minor edits, and changed Fischer to Fisher to match later chapters. Whoops.


	4. Chapter Four

Seven awoke, smothered by bed sheets, groggy and confused. Each heartbeat forced her skull inward like a lemon press, squeezing the juice from her brain. She tugged at the side of the sheet and, as the blanket slipped enough for light to creep in, she remembered where she was and yanked the blanket down. She paused, breathing, feeling her chest puff out the sheets above her. Then she reached for her power. She gasped as white-hot liquid filled her veins. The pressure inside her head evaporated. Drawing up a thick trickle, she assumed the face she remembered from yesterday and assembled the illusory wardrobe. Then she lifted the blanket’s edge, letting in a blade of light by which she examined her handiwork. She narrowed a few straps and widened both pockets before slipping out of bed and opening the door.

A narrow, brightly lit white-walled hallway closed in around her. LED lights in the ceiling illuminated every surface from hidden nooks between ceiling tiles. Footsteps clamped against the gray concrete floor, but sharp turns hid their source. In one corner, she noticed a camera peering at her. She leaned against the door and stared at it, waiting.

After a minute, a set of footsteps grew louder. She turned to her left and saw a tall, lanky man striding towards her. He wore a pair of black-rimmed glasses, and his wavy black hair stuck out at odd angles. He had a scruffy black goatee around thin, pale lips. His white lab coat, faded and worn in patches, was emblazoned with a bright red R on the front. He wore sturdy black jeans and rubber boots with rugged soles, along with forearm-length black rubber gloves.

He walked up to her, removed a glove, and held out the naked hand. Seven hesitantly shook it.

“Doctor Seamus Colson, Ph. D. in Neuroscience from Yale,” he said, giving the last word a triumphant vocal fanfare.

Seven thought for a moment. “Steven Sun, Biology.”

“Just a bachelor’s?” he asked. Then he shrugged. “Oh well. You’re lucky Giovanni needs someone with hands-on experience. Come on, you’ll be with me today.”

The doctor walked past her. She hurried after him, and after a short walk, they stopped in front of a locker room.

“Get in,” he said with a gesture at the door. “New clothes are hanging on the racks. Pick something that fits, and throw everything you have, clothes, personal items, everything, down the chute.” He gave her a stern shake of his head. “You don’t want to know what would happen if they found a cell phone on you.”

Seven stepped into the locker room. The tiny, cramped room housed a rack full of uniforms on one side, and a garbage chute on the other. As Seven peered at row after row of shirts, pants, socks, belts, coats, boxers, briefs, boots, and shoes, all in black or white and emblazoned with the Rocket R, she realized she had two serious problems. 

First, she didn’t have a clue how to put on most of the clothing. The coat was straightforward enough, and she felt reasonably certain she could wriggle into the pants and shirt with a few tries, but her clawed, canine feet would make socks and shoes tricky, and she didn’t have the slightest clue what to make of the underwear. After racking her brain for a moment while peering at the underwear, pretending to examine the labels marked with varying sizes, she figured that the briefs went over the pelvic region, followed by the boxers.

As each illusory article of clothing she wore went into a pile in the corner, to be buried beneath other clothes, she fleshed out her human mask, adding hair to the arms and chest, the bulge of biceps and abs, toenails and buttocks, all the human bells and whistles Ghetsis had her practice. Clothed in human nudity, Seven turned towards the clothing racks and gathered up a bundle of clothes.

After shoving the largest pair of briefs halfway up her legs, she realized that the elastic straps around the smaller holes would be painful around her legs. After some internal debate, she put on an illusory pair of briefs, hid the real pair in her hair, and slid into a pair of boxers. She paced around the room, ensuring that the fabric didn’t snag on her hair, before trying the jeans. After trying a few pairs, she decided on the largest. Her knees bent a little higher up than a human’s and the waist was loose around her, but an illusion fixed the first and a black leather belt, the second.

After that came the shirt, and the laborious process by which she threaded her hair through the hole for her head. She went through two pairs until finding one large enough to accommodate her long muzzle. Halfway through, she felt an object lodged in her hair snag on the hole. She got her hand around it and felt the trigger of a gun against her finger. She froze. Pinning her finger behind the trigger, she guided it through and left it in her hair. 

The lab coat went over the rest. She felt queer satisfaction bubbling up in her as she draped the white coat around her shoulders. The R over the right pocket had the deep, rich glow of blood. The discarded clothing went over the illusion in the corner, and she made the false clothing vanish.

Last came the footwear. Though the claws on her feet were trimmed short, they jutted out far enough to add an inch onto her foot length, making the socks flop around at the ends. Worse still, her feet widened out, scrunching her toes together in boots that matched her foot length. In the end, she took the largest pair of boots they had and padded the heel with the briefs she had kept.

Fully dressed after thirty minutes, she confronted her second problem, not having any clothes to throw down the chute. Her eyes fell on the heap of clothes she had tried on, tossed into the corner over the illusions. She pretended to rummage through the pile, covered some clothing with the proper illusions, and threw them down the chute.

Having thus disposed of all other problems, she turned her attention to the pistol, still braided in her hair. Throw it away, and resign herself to this new life, or keep it, and with it, both the hope of escape and the danger of discovery. 

Her first instinct was to keep it. Knowing nothing of the situation she was in, having the option to fight her way out felt reassuring. However, she had little idea how to use the device in her hair, and she knew that, once fired, it would draw the Rockets’ wrath down upon her.

Throwing the gun away seemed far safer, but she wondered how to get it into the chute without a camera noticing. Then she realized, why not have them notice? If she made a show of submission out of disposing her only presumed means of fighting back, they would be more inclined to trust her. With that thought in mind, she pulled the gun out of her hair, covering the act with an illusion of taking it from her armpit, held the firearm up above her head, and dropped it down the chute with a thunderous clatter.

When she walked out of the room, Seamus was leaning against the opposing his wall, tapping his foot and glancing at the camera.

He stretched his arms and pushed off the wall. “That took a while,” he said.

“Couldn’t find a size I liked.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Had something important to say goodbye to?”

Seven flinched, thinking that he knew about the gun. “Uh, yeah.”

“Turn out your pockets.” The order sounded like a cold draft roaring down the hall. One by one, Seven turned out every pocket on her uniform, revealing only tiny balls of gray lint.

“Good. I’d do a full body check, but we’re already late. Come on, time to work.”

Seven’s stomach grumbled. Seamus gruffly said, “You eat after the important stuff’s done, got it?”

Seven nodded and hurried after him.

As they walked down the halls, the rows of doors spread out further, and the bare metal doors sprouted windows when they turned a corner. Seven peered into a few rooms. Some were unoccupied, with sleek metal tables and counters crammed with drawers. Others housed Pokémon of many varieties, tended by humans with shears, syringes, combs, scalpels, and treats. Surgical operations and grooming happened side by side in a random, disturbing jumble, and after seeing one Arcanine getting its throat sliced open, she reflexively grabbed at her own throat, feeling the scars around her trachea. She breathed in thin gasps, and her hold on the illusion slipped for a second, revealing a tiny wisp of hair sticking out from under her shirt, before she snapped it back in place.

“I was also abducted, like you, about three years ago,” Seamus said. “It’s rough at first, but do what they tell you, and you’ll be fine. Really, it’s the others you should pity.”

“Others?”

“The ones that choose to work here.” Seamus slowed his pace so that he walked in stride with Seven. “There’s quite a few people, more than I ever realized, that leave college with degrees and have nowhere to go. The Rockets employ the most desperate of them, put them to work and leave threats looming over their head.” He stroked the hairs on his chin. “I can’t imagine what they tell their families.” Seamus chuckled and said, “When you really think about it, it’s a blessing being unable to leave. It makes them trust you more.”

Seven took a few deep breaths, shoving the thoughts of throat surgery out of her mind. “What will happen to me?”

“Depends on how useful you are.” He grabbed Seven’s arm and pulled her down a side corridor, leading up to a wide set of double doors at the end of the hallway. “One thing I respect the Rockets for, they reward success far better than the real world.”

Seamus braced his hands against the door and shoved them wide open. Beyond, Seven saw row after row of spacious Pokémon cages, stretching to gray metal horizons on either side of her. Each cubicle housed a Pokémon in an environment suited for it, from a Glaceon in an icebox to a Blastoise lounging in a deep pond. Dozens of scientists scurried from cage to cage, walking in with platters of food and grooming tools, and walking out with bulging white bags. In between every tenth row ran a miniature trolley system that sped silently through the facility, carrying overburdened carts and exhausted scientists to destinations across the facility.

“Welcome to your new job,” Seamus said, gesturing across the facility.

Seven stared in awe and fear at the labyrinthine complex before her. But before she could finish taking in the bewildering spectacle, Seamus dragged her over to a horizontal trolley two rows in. They hopped on and sped off far to the right side of the room.

“We’ll start you off easy,” he said. “That Dratini they brought in yesterday isn’t eating. It’s too skittish.”

“So you want me to get it eating,” Seven added.

“Exactly. It’s too valuable to drug up or force-feed, so it’s a perfect opportunity to prove your worth.”

The trolley lurched to a halt, flinging Seven forward against the guard railing. Seamus stepped off and gestured for her to follow. A few rows further down, bordering an expanse of empty cells, were all the subjects from Ghetsis’ Harmonia Labs. Of those she recognized, Fourteen was on the very end, motionless in the center of a small, bare room. Twelve was in an adjacent cell with a rocky pool of water and lush grass, squeezed against a corner, shaking and staring out the window. Its pupils dilated wildly, and it hissed at them.

Further down, she saw One and Three, the former in a grassy cell with a tiny sapling, and the latter chained in a thick metal prison, with intravenous injections coiling around it like leeches. Though she had never seen the rest, she figured that the myriad Pokémon wedged between them were the other subjects. There was one empty cell in the middle. Inside was a desk and a bed. Her breath caught in her throat as they passed it.

Next to Twelve’s cell was a cart with a jar of oil, a cloth towel, and a plate of oran berries. Seamus placed his hand on the cart and shoved it towards her. Then he opened a metal door built into the side of the cell.

“Show time,” he said, gesturing for her to enter.

As she took the plate and walked past Seamus, she glanced around the cells for cameras. She found two, perched in opposite corners, one right above the Dratini.

The Dratini flattened itself against the wall as she walked over. Once she was directly under the camera, she leaned forward and removed the illusion around her face. The Dratini squeaked in surprise at the sudden transformation, and then it hummed happily when it recognized her. She offered the plate of berries, and it hesitantly reached for one, snatching it up and crunching it into pulp. The Dratini wolfed down the rest, curled up, and closed its eyes.

Seven walked out of the room, and Seamus locked the door. “Good,” he said. “Get the rest taken care of and we’ll go to breakfast.”

The other subjects proved a greater challenge, considering that none of them knew her face. Imitating members of the lab, she doled out food and cleaned pens for all the other subjects, drawing on the conversations she had overheard and the carts that had passed by her cell. She waxed the shiny metal armor of a Metang, groomed a Ninetales, taking care not to touch its tails, and rubbed sand over a Flygon’s molting skin.

Scuffling feet outside the cell caught her attention. Seven set down the brush she used for grooming a Delphox and stepped outside, closing the door behind her. Staring at the Harmonia subjects was a tall, slender woman with blonde hair tied into a bob, striking blue eyes, angular cheekbones, a sleek silver jacket with an R on the front, high-heels, and thin black gloves. Seamus stood at attention next to Twelve’s cage, feet pressed together and hand in salute on his brow. He motioned for Seven to copy the salute, and after a moment’s hesitation, she mimicked him.

“At ease,” the woman said. Seamus lowered his hand, and Seven followed his lead. The woman walked over to Seven and stared into her eyes. Seven averted her gaze towards Seamus.

“So you’re Steven Sun?” she asked.

“Y – yes.”

Seamus rapped on a metal door and hissed “Madam.” Seven hastily added “Yes Madam.”

“Good. I am Admin Celeste. I run all of Team Rocket’s profit centers and oversee its finances. Now, I want to touch the Dratini.”

Seven nodded and jogged over to Twelve’s cage. Seamus opened the door for her, and she stepped inside, followed by Celeste. Twelve stared warily at the admin, but it made no sound as Seven walked closer. She held out her arms, scooping Twelve up to her chest, whispered soothingly into Twelve’s slender ears, and carried her over to Celeste.

The Admin was tender with her touch, massaging the top of Twelve’s forehead and stroking its ears. The Dratini closed its eyes and hummed softly, leaning into the caresses.

“Excellent work,” Celeste said tonelessly. “It’ll be sold in a week. Make sure it’s tame by then.”

With that, Celeste left the cell and rode off on a trolley. Seven set the Dratini down and walked over to Seamus. He wiped a drop of sweat off of his forehead and smiled at Seven.

“Ready for breakfast?” he asked.

The rumbling of Seven’s stomach was all the answer he needed. He laughed as they got on the trolley and left the labyrinth of Pokémon cells.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Changelog:
> 
> 5/27/18 - more minor edits


	5. Chapter 5

“So, are we ever allowed to leave?” Seven asked as she heaped an unfamiliar, pungent-smelling yellow goop onto her plate. After scanning the long buffet tables, she found no sustenance she recognized, so she figured she might as well try a bit of everything and learn what’s edible.

The buffet encircled a spacious cafeteria with neat, orderly columns of benches and tables. Two distinct groups shared this room. On the left, researchers in lab coats ate in silence. To the right, black-clad Grunts chattered amongst themselves as they crammed food in their mouths. Neither color mingled with the other.

“Not pawns like us,” Seamus answered, gesturing at the white half of the room. He formed a heaping bed of bacon on his plate and laid a row of sausages on top. “We’re stuck here. Grunts get sent out on missions, and higher-ranking officials can go where they please.”

Seven slapped half of a floppy brown disc next to the yellow goop.” Have you ever tried to be a Grunt?”

“Hell no! Are you kidding me? Not a day goes by without at least one Grunt getting shot or thrown in the slammer. Nah, six months ago I might’ve thought about it, but now’s the worst time.”

“What happened six months ago?”

“All hell broke loose.” Seamus grabbed a slice of bacon with his teeth and worked it into his mouth with his tongue. “Admin Tyron and two-hundred professionals got raided at another facility. Every single one got thrown in Stonebough. Worse yet, it gave politicians and cops the guts to stand up to the Rockets. No, just keep your head down and do the work you’re good at. It won’t be so bad, I promise.”

They shuffled down to the end of the buffet table. Crate after crate of carton beverages rested in baths of ice water. A little sign saying “Take One” sat in the center of the beverage buffet. Seven chose at random, taking a container labeled “Milk.” Seamus, however, took two different juices.

“Special privileges,” Seamus said. “Work hard enough and the Rockets reward.”

They found an isolated table on the white half of the room. A few men gave respectful nods as Seamus passed, and one gave Seven a quick, subdued welcome. They sat out of arms reach of the other researchers around them.

“So, here’s what you’ll be doing for the rest of the day.”

As Seamus rattled off a to-do list, Seven scooped a small heap of scrambled eggs onto her fork and placed it in her mouth. An indescribably foul taste overwhelmed her tongue like a deluge of sulfurous muck. Her powers quivered, and he had to hold tight to the illusion to keep it from rippling. She forced herself to swallow and gagged as she felt the noisome lump plummet down her throat.

Seamus hadn’t noticed her lapse in attention. “And then you’ll tag along with Murphy and learn to care for the Dodrio. Those birds are always a handful, better watch your eyes.”

Seven hastily nodded and scraped the eggs off to one side of the plate. She picked up a lump of pancake not defiled by egg crumbs and pushed it past her teeth. She mulled over its dull taste, praying that this wouldn’t be the best option from the buffet tables. It wriggled down her throat like a limp caterpillar.

“After that, you’ll tend to that Tyranitar. No one’s been able to get close to that thing, so I hope you’re prepared.”

Seven grimaced at the thought of walking up to the hulking green monster with a tray of food. One time, she saw a researcher limping away with long gashes on his leg, dragging behind him a crumpled metal cart with teeth marks gouged through it. She pushed the thought away and placed a thin strip of bacon on her tongue. Salty grease dribbled down her throat as she chewed, and while it wasn’t quite as rich and meaty as the raw steaks she usually received, she ate it all.

“I can’t promise anything,” she said between bites. “Even Ghetsis had a hard time with that one.”

“Well, you better try if you want to last here,” Seamus warned. “For all the world knows, you’re dead, so killing you is a lot easier.” 

Seven tore open the milk carton and took a hesitant sip. It tasted sour and unpleasant to her tongue, as though it had already spoiled, even though the box claimed an expiration date two months in the future. “How often do they kill people?”

Seamus wolfed down the piles of bacon, drained both cartons of juice at the same time, dabbed his face clean with a napkin, and stood. “Come on, the Dodrio will get groomed soon.”

They stacked the plates by a garbage can and returned to the labyrinth. Taking a trolley a few minutes to the left and another minute further in, they arrived at a cell far larger than usual, about the size of the mess hall. Inside, a couple dozen Dodrio raced over flat grasslands and drank from a shallow pool in one corner.

A short, portly man was riding one of the Dodrio, giving orders with flicks of his fingers on the three spindly necks. He wore a heavy pair of goggles, a slick brown helmet imitating the appearance of a Dodrio head, and a brown leather jacket bulging with protective pads. When he saw Seamus approaching the pen, he flicked the middle neck, and the Dodrio he rode skidded to a stop.

“So that’s the fresh meat?” the man asked, sauntering over to greet them. He gave Seamus a hearty handshake and held out his hand for Seven. She took it and winced as her hand was nearly smashed by his thick, callused fingers.

“Name’s Murphy,” he said. “Biology major from U of C.”

“Steven Sun, Biology,” she answered back, massaging her hand behind her back.

“Another Biology major! I always regretted not doing Biochemistry, but I was awful at Calculus.”

“Me too,” Seven replied with a nervous chuckle.

“Yeah, well, I’d still probably be here anyways. I got picked up when the Rockets did a raid where I interned. I’d been tending to the Dodrio ever since. They get a lot of money from gambling on the races.”

Seamus turned around and walked out the door. “Don’t be too rough on him, alright Murph?”

He patted his stomach and chuckled. “No promises! I still haven’t trained some of these buggers to leave eyes alone, you know!”

Seamus had a rueful scowl on his face. “Or balls,” he said, so low that normal human hearing wouldn’t have picked it out. Seven heard.

Murphy laughed even harder and knocked the region at the fork of his legs. It gave a hollow thunking sound. “Why do you think I wear this thing all day?”

Seamus grunted and slammed the door shut. Murphy shoved his goggles up, keeping an eye on the birds behind him, and wiped tears out of his eyes.

“I wasn’t kidding about the eye thing, you know,” Murphy said. He gestured towards a storage rack next to the door. “There should be some spares in there. Put them on, and get the brushes out.”

They started with grooming every single Dodrio in the facility, which was quite a challenge, since the birds hated standing still and the ungroomed ones blended in with their companions. After an hour of getting pecked and scratched, they moved on to feeding and faced an opposite problem. Six dozen heads rushed towards the door the moment they heard the cart wheels bump over the entryway, and they swarmed over the troughs of grain. Within moments, only dust remained.

“Ready to ride?” Murphy asked. He tossed Seven a helmet, and she clumsily slapped it over her head. It jostled around her slim, long head, but the straps held it in place.

“Pick whichever one you want.” Wallace gave her a big toothy grin and tapped his goggles. “But be careful, some are feistier than others.”

While Murphy put away the brushes, Seven scanned the room and picked out one a little shorter than the rest. It hadn’t fidgeted quite as much during the grooming, and it was one of the last to the food trough. Its right beak was chipped off on the bottom. When she stepped towards it, the bird’s three heads regarded her with a vague sense of interest.

As she lifted her leg to mount, Murphy had turned around and saw the Dodrio she had picked out. “No, wait! I didn’t tell you-”

Seven didn’t hear the rest, because the moment her weight shifted onto the back of the Dodrio, it bolted forward, so fast that Seven was shoved through the Dodrio’s tail feathers. By the time she got herself upright, the Dodrio was fast approaching a solid wall. In a panic, she flicked the center neck, sending the signal to slow down. However, this Dodrio didn’t slow down so much as abruptly come to a complete stop. Carried forward by her own inertia, she flew over the Dodrio’s heads, which were nearly touching the ground, and tumbled forward in the air. On instinct, she flipped and shifted her feet under her, landing upright and bracing her arms against the wall.

Murphy rushed over and shooed away the Dodrio, which was angrily clicking its beaks. Then he put a hand on Seven’s shoulder and said, “You just had to pick Goliath, didn’t you?”

“Goliath?”

He tapped his goggles. “The main reason I wear these.” He dusted off Seven’s lab coat and adjusted her helmet. “Well, I’d say your landing was about a nine. Nice footwork. But your riding skills need a lot of work.” 

Murphy explained how to turn by tapping the neck at the desired direction, and how to shift on the Dodrio’s back to keep balanced. When she asked how to slow down, Murphy laughed and said, “Dodrio have only two speeds – fast and dead stop. Want to try it again?”

Against the man’s recommendations, Seven went straight for Goliath. This time, she was ready for the sudden lurch forward, but the moment she flicked its right neck, it banked so hard she flew off the side and rolled to a stop at the edge of the pond. She got up before the Dodrio could trample her. Again, she tried, and each time she got back on, she was thrown the moment she gave a command. She even did a face-plant into the wall, and her muzzle throbbed as she got back on.

An hour later, Seamus returned, knocking on the door first before entering. He stayed within the doorway, giving the flocks of Dodrio wary stares.

“Let’s go, Steven.”

Seven put the helmet and goggles down and walked out of the cage. Murphy called “Good luck!” as the door slammed shut.

When Seven and Seamus hopped on a monorail, he said, “If you have anything you’d like to do with your limbs, now may be your last time.”

Seven couldn’t tell if he was joking or not.

As they raced through the labyrinth, Seven frantically searched her memory for any scraps of information she could recall from the Ghetsis’ audio logs. She knew it preferred meat, lots of it, and didn’t particularly care if it was chopped up on a platter or walking around in chainmail.

The monorail lurched to a stop in front of Subject Three. In front of the reinforced steel cage was a trough full of cubed meat and hunks of bone. Four researchers flanked the door, glancing nervously at the Tyranitar thrashing around and yanking the thick metal chains on its arms.

“We tried sedating it,” a nearby researcher told Seamus, “But the needles kept breaking. We put a double dose in the food.”

“It’ll have to do,” Seamus answered. Then he turned to Seven and said, “Work your magic.”

When the door opened, everyone backed away from it. Seven gripped the cart, squeezing hard to keep her hands from shaking, and walked inside. The door slammed shut behind her, and everyone watched from a safe distance through the energized green barrier.

Seven stood just outside of the reach of the Tyranitar’s thick, stony arms. Its razor-sharp claws were inches from her eyes as it strained at the end of its chains. She held up a piece of meat, but the Tyranitar ignored it, staring at her with enough anger in its eyes to ignite wood.

“What would Ghetsis do?” she asked herself. She envisioned his gaunt, fierce visage, heard his voice, and though she wanted nothing more to forget the last twenty years of her life, she needed those memories.

“I’ll need a Magneton,” She called. After a moment, Seamus cracked open the door and rolled a pokéball to her feet. The door was bolted shut as she pressed the button, and with a flash of red light, a Magneton emerged, floating above her. It took one look at the Tyranitar and backed all the way to the wall, its three eyes locked on its long, metal-crushing claws.

“Now, undo the chains on its legs.”

There was a moment’s pause as the pawns glanced at each other nervously before one hit a few buttons on a remote. The metal clamps binding its legs snapped open. The Tyranitar flexed its knees and scraped the floor with the talons on its feet, eyeing Seven with intensified bloodlust.

Seven walked just a bit closer to Three, just close enough that it could graze her if it wanted to. Every nerve on her body felt charged, and her muscles twitched uncontrollably. “So, Subject Three, are you going to behave today?”

She stroked the side of her face. When she realized she was mimicking Ghetsis’ habit of touching the computer over his right eye, she frowned and lowered her hand. The Tyranitar stared at her and kept its arms perfectly still.

Seven could feel her heart pounding in her chest. Her throat was dry, and the first time she tried to speak, her voice cracked. “Undo the right arm.”

“I hope you know what you’re doing,” Seamus called through the barrier. After a second, the clamp on the right arm opened and fell to the floor.

The moment its arm was free, the Tyranitar lunged forward, slashing at Seven’s face. She threw her arms up. The Tyranitar’s thick, stony limbs slammed her arms aside, and the claws smacked her head. Seven twisted, keeping the points from slashing her face. Control over her illusion faded for a second, but the lab coat hid the exposed areas. 

Once she had repaired the illusion, she stood and told the Magneton to administer a three-thousand volt shock. Whatever the Magneton shot Subject Three with it, it seemed far stronger than the prescribed dose. The Tyranitar screamed with the sound of grinding boulders as arcs of current raced across its stony skin. When the shock stopped, the Tyranitar slumped forward, panting hard. Tears streamed down its face.

“Now will you behave?” Seven asked.

Subject Three looked up at her through tear-filled eyes. Then it backed away, so the ridges on its spine pressed against the back wall. Seven pushed the cart of meat forward, and offered one bloody chunk. The Tyranitar picked it up with the tips of its claws and swallowed it whole. Then it lowered its head to the cart, burying its head in the meat, and ate it clean, leaving long scratches in the metal.

Seven knocked on the door. It opened, and she walked out holding the left side of her face. Her arms wobbled, and she had to lean against the door to keep herself from falling.

“I think I should go to bed now,” she said. Seamus helped her onto the trolley and guided her to a wing she didn’t recognize, but her vision spun too much to tell if she was somewhere new, or if they had returned to where she awoke that morning. She just barely made it under the covers of the first bed she saw before her illusion vanished.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Changelog:
> 
> 5/27/18 - minor changes to make the prose a bit neater


	6. Chapter 6

Two weeks had passed. Seven had slept poorly for the first week, plagued both by the darkness of her bedroom and her inability to sustain illusions in her sleep. Her gaze darted to and fro, hunting for cameras, and she flinched every time she saw one. Each night, she dreamed of surgery rooms shrouded in darkness and woke, breathing hard and strangling her own throat.

Once Subject Twelve was sold and Subject Three started accepting food without attacking its handlers, Admin Celeste had asked what improvement to her room she wanted. She asked for a night light. Now, while she still had to sleep under the covers, the light filtering through the blanket chased away dreams of scalpels and surgical saws.

She noticed other improvements to her life through the second week. The cooks no longer chided her for taking extra sausage and bacon at breakfast, and they always had an extra helping of beef stew set aside for her during lunch. She also received respectful nods from fellow pawns as she passed them in the halls. The cameras still loomed over her, but she found herself ignoring them for hours at a time.

On the fifteenth day, she gave a demonstration of Subject Fourteen’s ability to mirror any person’s appearance. As she was walking out of its pen, Seamus slipped something into her pocket. She reached for it and felt her hand brush against paper. He gave her a hard, long stare until she took her hand away.

Later that night, after she secured the covers over herself, she took the note out and read it.

I’m escaping tonight. I’m done with being watched all the time. If you feel the same way, meet me at midnight by the Dodrio pens. Make sure no one else knows.

The promise of freedom nearly made her throw the covers off. She caught herself with the edges of the blanket just lifting off of the mattress. She fastened it back down and lifted the edges just enough to see the digital clock on the nightstand. It was one hour to the appointed time.

Seven spent that hour going through the escape plan. Not the one getting her out of the Rocket base, but everything after, finding someone to replace, taking their life and filling their role in society. She debated who to replace – someone with status, or someone on the fringe, someone for whom odd behavior wouldn’t be noticed. It was an old daydream, but revitalized by the sudden prospect of freedom.

She almost waited right up until midnight, but with a start, she realized it would take her five minutes to reach the Dodrio pens, ten without the assistance of the trolleys. The clock read eight minutes to midnight. In a panic, she threw the sheet aside, bolted out the door, and sprinted down hallways, careening off corners, and skidded to a stop at the labyrinth doors. The whole facility had its lights off, but she could still hear the mechanical whir of cameras panning around.

She pushed against the doors. They opened easily. The room was dimly lit, casting long shadows over the trolley tracks. An occasional grunt and growl punctured the silence looming over the room as she followed the tracks to the Dodrio pens. Unlike the other pens, this one was fully lit, and two Dodrio were sitting out in front of it, saddled up. Seamus was already sitting on one, holding a pair of goggles and a helmet in his hand.

“Take these and hop on,” he said. “We’re leaving.”

She thought it odd that there was no trace of anxiety in his face. For that matter, when she started to think about it, she had no idea why he was leaving.

“Didn’t you say you liked it here?”

“Hah!” He nodded in the direction of a nearby camera. “You got to watch what you say around here. Now get on, we don’t have much time before someone figures out what’s going on.”

Seven strapped on the helmet and goggles and walked over to the Dodrio. Judging by the chipped beak, hers had to be Goliath.

“We’re taking the fastest ones. Try not to fall off.”

With that, he hopped on his Dodrio and darted off towards the north side of the room. Seven chased after him, and they quickly approached a service corridor at the end of the room. The sweet, meaty odor of blood filled her nose as they passed a butchery, followed by an absolutely rancid stench that flowed out from under a barred metal door.

They raced onward, into a hallway filled with metal pipes and reams of wires. Machines spread across the hallway monitored pressures and voltages, and had buttons, switches, and dials in perplexing arrays.

After a few minutes ride, they came to a metal door at the end of a hallway. Seamus flicked his Dodrio’s neck and ground to a halt. Seven did the same, and flew off the front of Bruno.

“Here we are,” he said, gesturing at the door. “Freedom.”

Next to the door’s handle was a security panel, with ten numbers on buttons. Seamus called out his Magneton and ordered it to zap the panel. It smoked and gave off green light, and the lock on the door snapped open.

The arc of electricity flowing into the panel, which briefly illuminated the room, reminded her of the night light in her bedroom. She had asked for one, back in Harmonia labs, and Ghetsis had ignored her. But here, she earned one.

That didn’t matter, she told herself. Out there, she could get all the night lights she wanted, and anything else. Not to mention, she wouldn’t be watched all the time.

No, she would be watched. She could never lower her guard, never dispel the illusion keeping her secret. The moment they realized what she was, they’d lock her up again. For all that they pretended to be friendly and accepting, the moment they had to decide between helping themselves or a pokemon, they’d always make the same choice.

That didn’t change the fact she’d have to do the same here. There were cameras everywhere, heck, there was probably a camera watching them right now.

But there would be cameras out there too. They walked around on two legs.

She could have whatever life she wanted out there.

She could earn whatever she wanted in here. All she had to do was work hard.

But why work hard when she could just have it?

Seamus opened the door. The tunnel ahead was pitch dark, but a gust of fresh air blew down it, bringing with it the smell of dew and dirt. Just ahead, the sky waited for her, a brilliant blue pool overhead that formed the ceiling of the world. That image alone drew her a step forward, but she stopped short of the darkness ahead. She could earn that view. If she made herself valuable enough, they’d grant that request. Why wouldn’t they? They did give her that night light. They gave her better rations too. So why couldn’t she earn more?

Earning it. That is what Seamus said was the best part about the Rockets, right? Maybe she could even earn herself a place here regardless of what she was.

More to the point, however, was that lingering chance that this was all some kind of trap. She imagined a harsh blue glow snapping to life overhead and slamming her to the floor.

She took a step back. “Seamus,” she said, “I’m not going.”

He turned towards her, half-hidden in the shadow beyond the doorway. “What?”

“I think it’s safer to stay here, so that’s what I’m going to do. I’ll bring back the Dodrio for you. Good luck.”

As Seven turned Bruno around, Seamus walked back through the door. “I was hoping it wouldn’t come to this. Magneton, thunder wave.”

As electricity gathered in the pokemon’s magnets, Seven shoved off of the Dodrio. Electricity shot through the air, zapping Goliath. The bird collapsed to the ground, its legs jerking and two of its heads shrieking as it struggled to stand.

“Hey, can anyone hear me?” Seamus shouted. “The new guy’s getting away! Stop him!”

Seven sprinted down the hall, but she was stopped within seconds by a wall of Grunts. She looked back, and saw that Seamus was already in the grip of a huge, muscular Grunt, and six more black-clad Rockets dragged away an unconscious Magneton in a rubber net.

A short, thin, black-haired man walked out from in between the Grunts. He had hazel eyes perched behind a thin nose, and pursed, thin lips. He wore the pristine white uniform of an admin, but it held layer after layer of thin, springy wires. Buttons and displays coated his sleeves, and the inside of his hood, which was left down behind his back, had dozens of tiny panels, all displaying camera footage.

“I – I was chasing after him!” Seamus shouted. “I almost caught him too!”

“Silence!” the Admin shouted. “I know exactly what you tried to pull.” He took off his glasses and wiped them clean with a cloth from his pocket. “Giovanni would like to see you both.”

Two Grunts grabbed Seven by the arm. She bowed her head and allowed them to drag her through the service corridor, onto a trolley in the labyrinth, and down a winding series of corridors. A locked door barred the way. With a swipe of the Admin’s keycard, they were in.

This stretch of hallway had a palpably different atmosphere. It tasted of power. Stark white walls with a glossy finish, gray carpet that massaged her feet with each step, and a muted glow of concealed LEDs surrounded her. Four doors flanked the hall, three with names etched into slate placards, and a fourth left bare. But it was the end that drew her gaze.

Giovanni’s door was open. Through the doorway, passed the rigid carvings in the doors, she could see a man sitting in the heart of a foliage-lined room. His cold, piercing gaze, from so far away she couldn’t make out his eye color, made her muscles lock up.

She and Seamus were dragged across the plush brown carpet and thrown before Giovanni’s desk. Seamus quickly got to his feet and saluted the Rocket leader, and in a panic, Seven followed suit.

Giovanni, without looking away from them, reached for a corner of his desk. Sanitizer squirted from a hidden nozzle, and the harsh scent of alcohol filled the air.

“I didn’t say you could get up.”

Like a puppet with its strings cut, Seamus fell back to the floor, followed a second behind by Seven.

“Now, Seamus,” Giovanni said as he meticulously rubbed his hands together, lathering alcohol between his fingers, coating every bit of skin down to his wrists, “You’ve been a loyal servant all these years. I’m really disappointed in you.”

“I – I was just testing the new recruit. I wanted to make sure he wouldn’t escape.”

“I gave you no such orders.”

“B-but”

“Did Celeste give you such an order?”

“I-”

Giovanni held up a tablet. “Should I wake her up and ask if she ordered you to test him?”

“No, sir, I – I mean she didn’t ask me to.”

“Get the tarp.”

Two Grunts left the room and returned with a clear plastic tarp. They laid it out behind Seven and Seamus, covering every inch of the carpet, and draped it over the desk. Then they pushed Seamus and Seven back, laying out the plastic where they had knelt. Two more draped the tarp over the walls, and stapled it together to form an arch protecting the ceiling.

Giovanni took a gun out of a drawer. Seven recognized it as the same firearm she threw down the chute. He checked the safety, flipped it off, and held it loosely in his hand, pointing it towards the waterfall.

“Now, Seamus, I really don’t want to have to use this gun in my hand, so tell me why you did it.”

Sweat trickled down the man’s forehead as he stared at the gun. He glanced at the plastic beneath his knees and at the blank stares from the Grunts lining the room.

“You’re not going to kill me, are you?”

Giovanni cocked the hammer and moved it a few degrees closer to Seamus. “That depends on your answer.”

“But – but you promised…”

Giovanni, in one swift, clean motion, pointed the gun at Seamus and pulled the trigger. Blood erupted from a hole in the neuroscientist’s head, and bits of brain mixed with bone flew across the room. The Grunts didn’t even flinch as blood spattered their faces and uniforms.

The blood had missed Seven entirely, but she felt absolutely filthy, as though her fur were drenched in Seamus’ blood and gore. His blood pooled over the top, and a thick river wound its way through the creases towards her legs. Though she wanted to crawl away from it, she couldn’t make her legs move, and so, the blood seeped into her lab coat, leaving a long red stain along the contour of her right leg.

The cocking of the pistol’s hammer snapped her gaze away from Seamus. The gun was pointed at her.

“Steven,” Giovanni said, “Same question.”

“Wh – what?”

“Why did you try to escape?”

Seven swallowed, but her throat was so dry that she coughed. She saw blood on her hands, and for a split second, she thought that she was already shot and coughing up blood, but then she realized the blood came from the growing pool at her knees.

“I – I don’t know. I got a note and left without thinking about it.”

“And why did you turn back?”

Seven took a deep breath and stared into Giovanni’s eyes. She couldn’t glean a flicker of emotion from those chilling green pools.

“I – I want to earn it.”

The gun rose slightly. “It?”

“Freedom.”

Giovanni’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t understand what you mean.”

Seven rose to her feet, slowly, keeping a vigilant eye on the pistol. Then she asked, “Why was I allowed to have a night light?”

“Because I reward good behavior. It’s only natural.” He stroked his chin. “However, I also punish bad behavior, and I cannot tolerate anyone trying to escape.”

Seven tensed up as Giovanni aimed at her chest and pulled the trigger. However, the gun only made an empty clicking sound.

“I’ll let you live,” he said, setting the gun on the table, “But you’ll have to earn back your life.”

Seven’s legs failed her. She sank to her knees again, grimacing as more blood soaked into her coat. “What are your orders?”

“Steal ten pokemon by the end of the week. Succeed, and I’ll promote you to a Grunt. Fail, and you’re dead. How painful that death will be depends on if you try to run or not. Now, go back to your room and get some sleep. You’ll have a big day tomorrow.”

Two Grunts escorted her back to her room. The moment she was inside, she threw all her bloodied clothes into a corner and shoved her head under the blankets. She tried to sleep, but the smell of Seamus’ blood kept her awake through the night.

*******

“Are you really sure this is a good idea, sir?” Admin Colson asked as Seamus’ corpse was wrapped in the tarp and dragged out of the room. Once the other Grunts left, the Admin leaned forward and whispered, “If it attempts an escape out there, we may never find it.”

Giovanni handed him an envelope. Inside were two tiny metal chips embedded with blue crystals. “I’ve thought that through. Make sure these are put in the sleeves of its new uniform.”

Colson stared at the chips for a moment before dropping the envelope in his pocket. “But still, why go through the trouble? Didn’t you get what you wanted?”

Giovanni leaned forward and frowned at a tiny speck of blood on his desk. Reaching into a desk drawer, he took out a spray bottle filled with bleach and a white rag. He removed every paper on his desk, sprayed its entire surface, and scrubbed until every trace of blood was washed away, and the harsh scent of bleach wafted from the wooden surface.

“Damn it, he almost ruined everything. Why couldn’t he keep his mouth shut like he was told?”

Admin Colson cleared his throat. Giovanni looked over at him.

“Oh, right. And no, there’s still a lot to learn.”

“What do you mean? We already know its secret. That’s all we need.”

“Men are moved by more than just secrets, Colson. They’re moved by desire. And I don’t know what it wants yet.” He chuckled. “I don’t even think it knows, and that makes it difficult.”

“It isn’t human,” Colson answered.

“I thought you had a less rigid definition of the word human than that.”

Colson pulled his hood over his head for a moment, scanning the screens on the inside. “What are your orders, sir?”

“Help it as little as possible,” Giovanni said. He set the papers back into neat stacks on his desk. “I’d like to see if it’ll be of any use to me or not.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Changelog: 
> 
> 6/30/2018 - a few minor cleanups, including fixing grammar mistakes, removing Colson's first name, and a few other touches to bring it in line with future chapters.


	7. Chapter 7

Bruno loved the smells of donut shops. Beneath the harsh, acrid cloud of coffee that clung to the breath of every patron within the establishment was the sweet scent of sugar. This establishment, however, didn’t use conventional sugar. Rather, every sweetener, used to take the edge off of coffee, glaze the donuts, or sweeten the crepes, came from honey. The resulting blend of odors from this unconventional sweetener and the cuisine tailored to its peculiar flavor left Bruno’s mouth watering. The moment his order arrived, with two glazed chocolate donuts and a cup of coffee, heavily diluted with cream and turned yellow with honey, Bruno wolfed down the donuts and chugged the coffee, slathering glaze all over his furry blue paws.

The tall, burly man, named Peter, sitting across from him laughed. He picked up one of his donuts, which seemed tiny in his massive, callused hands, and took a dainty bite, chewing slowly and savoring the flavor. Then he took a sip of his black, bitter coffee.

“Hey now, take it easy Bruno,” Peter said. “Wouldn’t want you getting sick on the first day on the job!”

Bruno nodded, swallowed, and smiled. Then he took a napkin and cleaned off his paws. The paper snagged on one of the bony points jutting from the top of his hand, and he tore a hole through the middle.

Both the man and the lucario wore blue officer’s uniforms, each tailored to their physiology but identical in trim and ornamentation. They bore badges over their hearts, caps atop their brows, and boots on their feet. The sole difference in their uniforms was what they kept by their side. The burly man had a .44 caliber pistol with a silencer affixed to its barrel. Bruno had a notepad and a pen. The notepad looked fresh off of the shelf, and yet only a few pieces of paper remained on the threadbare cardboard backing.

A waitress walked over and smiled at the officers. “Wouldn’t you rather give your lucario something suited for pokemon?” she asked the officer. “We have an excellent variety of poffins, made to suit the nutritional needs of pokemon.”

Peter chuckled. “He’s my partner. We do things together.”

The waitress shrugged and said, “Suit yourself.” She left the bill on the table and darted off to serve another customer. The officer set a twenty under an unused glass, stood up, and gave the lucario a huge smile.

“Alright Bruno, I think we’ve patrolled the donut shop enough. Ready to head out?”

Bruno took out the pen and paper. He wrote swiftly and dexterously, tore the paper off, and handed it to Peter. It said, “Can we get some to go?”

Peter folded up the paper and tucked it into his right pocket. It bulged outward, and a few corners of white paper poked out. “Budget’s a bit tight,” he mused. Then he laughed. “We’ll come back when we catch a criminal. How does that sound?” Then he winked and added, “Double the donuts for catching Rocket scum.”

The two officers nodded farewell to the waitress and walked out the door. They strolled through the streets, smiling at passing civilians and giving friendly waves wherever they went. Throughout the stroll, Bruno kept his ears perked, listening to the shuffle of feet and every whisper on the wind.

Towards the end of the day, Bruno caught the first sign of trouble. In an alley, he heard someone back into a wall, along with a muffled, whispered demand for money. He yanked Peter’s hand and barked in the direction of the alley. Peter drew his pistol, and they ran into the alley. Bruno led the way down a series of twists and turns, far from the clamor of the streets, until they finally came to the source of the ominous sounds.

A woman was backed against a wall, holding her purse out in front of her face like a shield. Three thugs, shoddily dressed in wrinkled shirts and torn jeans, surrounded her with leering smiles on their faces. Two carried knives, and the third pointed a gun at the woman’s leg.

“Just hand over the purse, and you’ll get to walk home with both of your legs,” the pistol-wielding thug said. “That’s all we want.” Then he grinned and laughed, a feral, maniacal laugh that made the woman sink to her knees. “Although, we’ll let you go without any scratches if you give us a good show, if you get my meaning.”

The thug’s two cohorts chuckled and reached towards the woman’s shirt. At this, however, Peter cleared his throat. The three thugs jumped and pointed their weapons at him.

“Whoa, just relax, guys,” he said, holstering his pistol and holding up his hands.

“You’re – you’re with the police!” a thug shouted.

“Yes. Just turn yourselves over, and I’ll treat this as just an attempted robbery and let you off easy.”

“Screw that! Come on guys, let’s split!”

At the order from the lead thug, all the criminals split up, each darting down a different alley. Peter went to the woman’s side and helped her onto her feet.

“I’ll get her out of here,” Peter said to Bruno. “You go after them and cuff them, alright?”

Bruno barked in response and bounded off. He caught the first thug before he had the chance to round a corner. The thug slashed at him, but he ducked beneath the blade and shoved a paw into the man’s midsection. He fell to the ground, gasping for air. Bruno helped him up into a sitting position, cuffed his hands and feet, and dashed off towards the next target. Using his keen senses, he honed in on the ragged breathing and uneven, frantic pace of the other knife-brandishing criminal. This one threw out a pokeball, releasing a mightyena. Its face was scarred up, and patches of its fur were burned away.

“Now, bite it Chopper!” the man shouted.

The mightyena leapt forward, sinking its teeth into Bruno’s forearm, but he smacked it off with his free paw. The man dashed towards him, blade extended, and rammed the tip into Bruno’s chest. The blade snapped cleanly off at the hilt, spraying shards of steel onto the pavement.

The man stared dumbly at his broken blade as Bruno wound his arm back. Then the lucario threw a mighty punch, catching the man in the fork of his legs. He doubled over, screaming in pain and frantically reaching for a second pokeball. Bruno kicked his belt off, cuffed him, and leapt up a fire escape. From the rooftop, he scanned the alleys below, hunting for the gun-wielding thug. He took off in the direction he remembered that man taking, off to the north away from everyone else, but those alleys were completely silent. Sullen and thinking his quarry slipped away, Bruno rushed back towards Peter. However, as he came within earshot of his fellow officer and the woman he escorted, he heard a third pair of footsteps, slinking in pursuit. Bruno heard a pistol being cocked and rushed forward, leaping down in between the final criminal and Peter. 

The gun fired, and a bullet caught Bruno in the shoulder. The metal tore through his tough outer skin and tore out a small chunk of flesh. Blood gushed from the wound, and Bruno clapped a paw over it to staunch the bleeding.

Peter drew his own pistol, stepped aside his comrade, and fired two shots. The first shot went wide, tearing a hole in a dumpster, but the second caught the thug square in the throat. He fell, clutching at his throat with one hand and propping himself up on his knees with the other. Blood streamed out between his fingers, and each cough from the man coated the concrete with red specks. After half a minute, the man’s arm buckled, and he collapsed to the ground with a gurgle.

“Damn it, I killed him,” Peter muttered as he gently set the shocked woman against a wall. He rushed over to Bruno and gingerly parted the fur around the wound.

“Don’t worry, Bruno,” Peter said, unrolling gauze from a miniature first-aid kit in his pocket, “I’ll get that taken care of.” He tightened the gauze, slowly and gently, stopping when Bruno barked with pain.

“Now, can you tell me where you left the others? I’ll go get them.”

Bruno sketched out the alleyways on his last piece of paper and marked two X’s where the captured criminals were. Peter took the paper, told Bruno to keep an eye on the woman, and darted off. Bruno got on his feet, walked over to the woman, and sat down next to her, closing his eyes and listening closely to the alleyways. He heard Peter approach each man, check their cuffs, take all their weapons, and lug them over his shoulder.

Ten minutes later, Peter returned hauling a cuffed man over each shoulder. He lowered them to the ground and checked Bruno’s shoulder.

“Good, looks like the healing stopped. I called backup. They’ll be here any minute now.”

Just as he said this, Bruno’s ears caught the wail of police sirens, wafting through the wind. Within a minute, a squad of officers threw the two live criminals in the back of a police car, photographed every inch of the scene, collected the gun and knives, and wrapped the corpse in a body bag. During this commotion, Peter left, letting Bruno lean on his arm as they walked back to police headquarters. There, a doctor checked Bruno’s shoulder, gave him a few stitches, and sent them off.

“How’s it feel?” Peter asked as Bruno rubbed his shoulder. Bruno reached for his side, but he had no paper.

“Oh right, you’re out. Let’s go get some more on the way home.”

Bruno gave him a pleading look. Peter laughed and said, “Alright, we’ll stop for donuts too.”

Bruno intensified his stare. Peter raised his head and stroked his stubby chin. “Those guys weren’t Rockets, that’s for sure.” Bruno’s head sank. Peter clapped him on the back and said, “Ah, what the heck. You earned double donuts. Come on, let’s go!”

Ignoring the stabs of pain from his shoulder, Bruno ran towards the donut shop, with Peter chasing after him. His laughter echoed up and down the alleyways and as it gave smiles to the faces of every civilian they passed, it also sent chills up the spine of a Rocket member watching from the shadows.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Changelog: 8/19/18 - tidied up the prose and added a bit more aura stuff to the chase scene


	8. Chapter 8

The next morning, Seven woke up to see blood stains all over her legs. She backed away, tangling herself in the blanket, before last night’s memories caught up with her. Slowly untangling herself, she fastened an illusion onto her face and looked around her new room. Her night light, though it had been transferred, was now on the opposite wall. The room had another foot of space on each wall, a closet in the back, and an air conditioner. 

A black uniform waited at the foot of her bed. Seven stripped off her clothes, rubbed the dried blood out of her fur, and put on the new suit. It fit her about as well as human clothes could be expected to, the pants coming short of her ankles and a touch loose at the waist despite her new belt, the shoes needing treatment before they would accommodate her feet, and the shirt matting her fur down around her neck. 

She tried shoving her mane down the shirt, but doing so left her unable to turn her neck. A hat, which rested atop the pile, fit snugly on her head, but her attempts to bunch up all her hair underneath it made a wobbly, unstable tower that collapsed the moment she took a step. In the end, all she could do was take one of her claws, which had grown longer and sharper during her time as a pawn, and saw off as many of the obtrusive locks as she could and stuff them in her mattress. Her head felt extremely light, and she felt a pang of regret when she reached back and felt nothing but air.

After breakfast with the Grunts, Murphy walked up to her. He kept a respectful distance away and did not meet her eye.

“He’s dead, isn’t he?”

Seven paused for a moment, wondering what she should say. Then she nodded. It was the only response she had to give.

That, however, was enough. With a regretful wave, Murphy walked off into the throngs of pawns migrating to the labyrinth. The Grunts wandered off, dispersing through the whole building, save for one that beckoned to her. With a start, she realized it was Dekkard.

“Well, look at you!” he said, eyeing the uniform. “I didn’t take you for the type to be a Grunt, that’s for sure. Well, follow me, and I’ll get you set up.”

If the labyrinth resembled purgatory, then the place Dekkard took her more closely resembled hell. They passed deep into the labyrinth, close by the service shaft Seamus led her down, and passed through the door she smelled earlier. As intolerable as that stench was with the door closed, the noxious gust of air that assailed her nostrils proved so potent that vomit surged up her mouth and out her nose.

Dekkard handed her a rag and a respirator with a canister of gas. After wiping her lips and nose clean, she forced the mask over her lupine face. Though the edges didn’t close around her head, the stream of gas pouring out of it kept the foul odors at bay.

“I remember my first time here. I actually puked all over the floor. Anyways, welcome to the chop shop!”

Dekkard gestured grandly at the towering rows of cramped cages. Tens of thousands of Ratatta screeched and squeaked behind iron bars, reaching for the dim incandescent light that flickered from the ceiling lights. Each cage was supplied with moldy bread and murky brown water. Sickness spread like wildfire, and hundreds of corpses were thrown out of cages and replaced with new victims.

Further down the hall, Seven saw the fate that befell the corpses. Limp bodies vanished in huge metal grinders that pounded flesh, gristle, and bone into a fine paste. Inside a huge mixing tank, workers dumped vast vats of chemicals into the soupy mixture of meat, then countless round pellets were squeezed out of the tank and baked until brown. This time, the vomit she held back before spilled out of her mouth, seeping out of the edges of her mask and dripping on the floor.

“On the books, this whole building is a Pokémon food processing plant,” Dekkard explained, stepping over the sticky brown droplets Seven sprayed onto the floor. “It’s a bit more literal than most Pokémon owners would be comfortable with, but auditors only see the ground floor facility.”

They walked on, past a whole mile of concentrated Pokémon suffering. The smell of her own bile seemed heavenly compared to the stench creeping in through the edges. After a while, she felt the oxygen in her tank falter and searched around for a replacement mask.

“Running out already?” Dekkard asked. “Wow, you sucked up that tank fast.” He detached the tank from his own back and handed it to her. “Use that sparingly, it only has a quarter.”

Dekkard loosened his mask and grimaced at the smell. “So, like I was saying, at the end is the nursery. Take whichever of the bigger ones you like.”

The columns of cages were replaced with one bigger, multi-layered structure of inter-connected tubes and large, spacious dens. On the lower levels, maturing Rattata tussled and gnawed at each other, while mother Rattata nursed their newborns on the higher levels, guarded by the fathers.

Dekkard opened a hatch, handed Seven a pokeball, and gestured through the opening. “Choose wisely, not that it really matters.”

Seven, unable to tell the scurrying rats apart, threw at random and caught a scrawny specimen in a corner. The pokéball floated back up to her hand, and she tucked it in the new belt at her side.

Dekkard smiled at her. “I know I said it didn’t matter, but what made you pick the runt of the litter? Expecting people to give you their Pokémon out of pity?”

Seven shrugged at him. Dekkard chuckled and coughed at the stench. “Ugh, let’s get out of here before I get sick.”

Seven, whose air had once again started to run out, couldn’t agree more. They ran past white-suited pawns, flecked with filth and blood, and back into the relative clean air on the other side of the door. Then they worked their way back through the labyrinth and towards the stairway Seven remembered from the day she was dragged down here.

“Alright, before you go up, you have to get a set of civilian clothes.” Dekkard opened a door, revealing a huge walk-in closet. Shirts, pants, shoes, hats, scarves, gloves, purses, backpacks, socks, underwear, swimsuits, and accessories of every shape and size imaginable lined its walls and stood in leaning stacks. Dekkard rummaged through the pile, took out a flannel jacket, a plain white tee, and khakis, flung off his uniform down to his underwear, and threw on the civilian clothes.

“Alright, now for your stuff.” In one corner rested a vacuum-packaged set of clothes. Dekkard tore the plastic off and handed the clothes to her. “You had your clothes picked for you,” he said. “Anytime you go out, you are to wear these. Understood?”

Seven unruffled the clothes and inspected them. In her hands, she held a long, light black leather coat, a pair of black jeans with an elastic waistband, and a wide-brimmed black hat. She threw off her uniform, tucked it next to Dekkard’s, and tried on the new clothes. Thanks to the elastic band, the pants fit with some effort, and the loose, light leather jacket let her fur breathe.

“Seems like they have it out for you,” Dekkard said. “It’ll be hard to slip through a crowd in those clothes.” He shrugged. “Part of your test, I guess. Anyways, let’s get moving. A keycard for getting into the building is in the right pocket, and a map in the left. Whatever you do, make sure the police don’t get that map. Eat it if you have to, got it?”

Seven nodded quickly. Dekkard grinned. “Good. Time for a demonstration.”

Dekkard led the way through the PokéPals Food Processing offices on the top floor and onto the main streets. Seven’s gaze was drawn skyward, at the brilliant blue sky cleaved in thin slices by monolithic buildings towering around her and glittering in the rising sun. She forced herself to look down and navigate the rushing crowds of people. Through the human river, Dekkard slipped through people like an eel, scanning waists and faces with deceptively disinterested eyes. Seven tailed him twenty feet behind, barreling into people and shoving them aside in a desperate attempt to match his speed.

Despite the crowded atmosphere around her, Seven felt strangely happy being surrounded by all these people. A few pedestrians gave her angry second glances as she bumped into them, but none examined her, or pointed, or paid her any mind at all. She may have been a boulder tumbling through that stream, but she still felt like part of the river.

After ten minutes of walking, the crowd thinned out. Dekkard ambled past small street shops, idly window shopping while making sidelong glances down the sidewalks. Then he lagged back towards Seven.

“See any white masks?” he asked hoarsely.

“Uh, no?”

“Good. They’re bad news. Now, I’ve got a mark. Someone with a few pokemon, preferably, young and cheerful, the type to take random matches. You can either challenge them yourself or wait for someone else to come along, whatever you want. Aha! It’s starting.”

A teenage girl in a yellow skirt took out a pokéball and called out a Golduck. A young man wearing a black tank-top answered with a Raichu.

“Perfect, now watch a master at work.” Dekkard called out a Weezing and a Golbat. He ordered the first to spew a billowing cloud of smoke and had the Golbat dart into it. Seconds later, the Golbat flew out with two pokéballs in its mouth. Dekkard took them, called back the Pokémon, and vanished into an alley. Seven ran after him.

“It won’t be nearly that simple for you,” he said as they took a few random turns, putting the growing noise in the street far behind them. “With just that Rattata, you’ll have to plan carefully. Now, get that map out and I’ll show you where to go next.”

Seven unfolded the white piece of paper in her pocket. It showed a few side-streets, and a huge X at the end of an alleyway. After hitting one of the streets on the miniature map, they walked down the alley and knocked on the brick wall at the end. A grate slid aside, and a set of frantic brown eyes scanned the alley. Then, with a muffled thud, the brick swung back, and a black-clad man waved them inside. The room was small, cramped, and poorly lit, and it had only one table. A machine with a circular divot in the middle rested on the table, plugged into a cracked outlet on the far wall.

Dekkard handed him the two pokéballs. The man set one on the machine. It whirred to life, then a loud snak! echoed through the room. He took the ball, set it in a box, and repeated the procedure with Dekkard’s other catch.

“He removes the GPS units so cops don’t find them,” Dekkard said. “So don’t even think about trying to keep one.”

“Why don’t you just snatch them off of belts while you walk by?” Seven asked.

Dekkard stared at her in amazement, clearly visible even in the dim light of the cramped room, and burst out laughing. “Wow, I had no idea you were this clueless! What on earth are the higher-ups thinking?” Then he wiped tears out of his eyes. “The pokéballs read thumbprints. They won’t detach from a belt or open unless it recognizes the thumbprint of the person who owns it, but once they’re active, anyone can use them. They tried making them thumbprint-activated all the time, but the balls don’t read thumbprints properly when they’re big. So, the only time you can steal them is when the Pokémon are out. Got it?”

“Seven nodded.”

“Great. Then get to it. Your week starts now.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Changelog: 8/19/18 - tweaked the prose a bit


	9. Chapter 9

Bruno took long, cold licks at a triple-scoop ice cream cone, vanilla stacked on top of mint and cherries wrapped in a chewy waffle cone. After he chomped through the last of the cone, he licked his muzzle, which had a minty flavor clinging to his hairs. Peter finished his off, chocolate with brownie chunks, and surveyed the streets around them.

“Hasn’t been much going on, huh? I thought we’d get a bit more action with the transfer.”

Bruno barked in agreement. Then he took out a piece of paper, scribbled a rough map, and pointed at a spot a few blocks away.

“Yeah, that does seem like a good spot,” Peter said, tucking the map into his pocket. “Let’s patrol over there for a few hours, alright?”

They moved out of a pristine shopping district into a more run-down area with worn brick facades, faded store signs, and idle wanderers leaning against storefront windows and sitting on stoops. A faint, tepid breeze carried cigarette smoke, scraps of trash, and the cries of Pokémon through winding alleys and out of street gutters.

Bruno stifled a groan as the foul air burned his nose. Peter glanced down at him and said, “There’s a plaza with a fountain up ahead. Should be more relaxing over there.”

As they approached the fountain, Bruno heard cries of distress up ahead. A boy, somewhere in the early teens, shouted “Give him back! Thief!”

Bruno barked and ran ahead. Peter, with a hand on his holster, followed closely behind. They sprinted into the fountain plaza just as a black mist, hovering around the heads of people gasping for air, faded to a light haze.

Six people, all wearing white masks with Gothic scowls, sprinted into a nearby alley. Peter sighed and said, “Damn White Knights. Bruno, find whoever they’re after and bag them before they do. I’ll get statements.”

Bruno leapt onto a nearby rooftop and looked down in an alley. The six White Knights had stopped around a figure, sitting on the ground, with a wide-brimmed black hat and a black leather jacket. The figure stood up and dusted off their pants, they exchanged some words, the figure pointed, and the Knights ran off in that direction.

Bruno started off towards the Knights, but a flash of color drew his eyes back towards the figure. As they turned away, their hair whirled out from under the hat, revealing a vibrant purple hue. His curiosity piqued, Bruno lingered a while longer, hoping to catch a glimpse of the figure’s face. He wasn’t sure why the figure intrigued him so, until it turned the corner, and he saw the front of her face. It was angular, fox-like, with fur as dark and lustrous as satin, and yellow eyes like jasper that glittered even in the shadows of the hat. She also had a peculiar aura, awash with deep reds, dark blues, and a cloudy purple, like a sunset at the cusp of night, overshadowed with large, proud cumulus clouds. So strong her aura was, it blazed like a lighthouse beacon over a pale glittering sea of lesser auras, and it left the faint sensation of heat on his fur, like a sunlight-soaked blanket wrapped around his chest.

The Pokémon froze. As she turned around, Bruno ducked behind the building’s concrete ledge and waited until he heard her walk away. His first instinct told him to follow after her, but he reminded himself of his mission and dashed off after the receding footsteps of the Knights. He leapt back and forth between them, and though he could sense their own footsteps just fine, he never once caught a sign of their quarry. No one lurked in the shadows of abandoned buildings, or fled down narrow alleyways. Only the wind and the rhythmic, march-like footsteps of Knights stirred the filthy papers and broken glass scattered across cracked concrete.

After a fruitless half an hour, Bruno raced back to his partner. Peter was waiting on a park bench, with one can of lemonade in his hand and another sitting on the seat next to him. Bruno took the can, cracked it open, and chugged half in one swallow.

“Did the Knights get him?” Peter asked.

Bruno shook his head.

“Slippery bastard. Well, it’s better than sending another assault victim to the hospital.” Peter took a sip and wiped his mouth. “So, what did you see, before you went off? You were standing up there for quite a while.”

Bruno wrote down everything he could remember about the Pokémon and handed it to Peter. He read it carefully and chuckled.

“A Pokémon, walking around in people clothes? Now that’s something you don’t see every day. Well, other than you, but that’s besides the point. And you say it walked back towards me?”

Bruno nodded. Peter shrugged and said, “I must’ve missed it. Oh well. Ready to head back?”

Bruno looked up, at the crimson sunset crowning the tops of the crumbling buildings. Beyond that light, he could dimly sense the other, more radiant sunset. It tugged at him. No other words could describe the urge to race off into the sunset in search of those radiant hues.

Peter caught him looking into the sunset and guessed his thoughts. “What’s the matter, you saw a pretty lady and now you want to go chasing after her? Looks like poor old Peter’s going to be all alone!”

Peter howled with laughter as Bruno lightly punched him in the shoulder. He wiped the tears out of his face and asked if Bruno wanted a cup of coffee.

The prospect of food drove that Pokémon out of his thoughts, but as they walked towards the nearest reputable coffee shop, he could still feel the warmth of that sunset on his back.

***

Seven’s stomach felt icy cold as she walked up to her target. Her fingers shook as they wrapped around the pokéball at her waist.

For the last two days, she roamed the streets and watched Pokémon battles unfold. At first, she feared being unable to get anyone to accept a challenge, but after watching for a day, she realized that challenges were seldom turned down, especially if a quick one-on-one battle was promised.

Her bigger challenge was finding a space unwatched by the white masks. Everywhere she went, they seemed to scowl at her out of shop windows and from the shadows of alleyways. On this day, she went hours without seeing a mask, and a large number of trainers roamed alone in the older parts of the city. Tailing after one teen that caught her eye, she resolved to make today her first success. She had already wasted two precious days and most of this one planning, and no matter how much she shook at the thought of getting caught, she couldn’t waste any more time.

“Hey, wanna battle?” she asked. For a split second, she feared that her visage, that of an older man, could make him hesitate. That fear, however, evaporated in the warmth of the kid’s smile.

“Absolutely! Take it easy on me, alright? I’m trying to raise this one gently.”

Seven hesitantly returned the smile. “Sure, I can do that.”

They walked over to a clearing in a plaza with a fountain. A fine mist drifted in the wind, dampening the smell of cigarettes and car exhaust. The concrete beneath her shoes felt slick, but cracks and loose gravel helped her keep her footing.

“Alright, now come on out Wriggler!”

At the expansion of the pokeball, she concentrated and formed a billowing cloud of illusory black smoke around the whole plaza. Though she introduced no extra contaminant to the air, everyone shrouded in her illusion coughed violently, their lungs set afire through her manipulation of minds. Seven dashed through the illusion, snatched the enlarged pokeball out from the kid’s hand, and ran.

The kid, however, managed to shout “Give him back! Thief!” At this cry, six people leaning against walls in a nearby alley slipped white masks over their faces and ran after her. She sprinted for the nearest alley and rounded a corner. To her relief, it was empty. She stopped, took a deep breath, and changed the illusion around herself, transforming her appearance to that of a girl’s face she glimpsed in the plaza, adding a yellow skirt and loose white top for good measure.

Once the illusion was complete, she turned around and walked back the way she came. However, the white-masked men ran straight into her, knocking her to the ground. She threw one arm over her head to hold her hat in place and another back behind her to cushion her fall.

One of the men stooped over her. He held out his hand and said, “Excuse us miss, are you alright?”

“Oh, uh, yes, I’m fine,” Seven stammered.

“Sorry to run into you like that, but we’re after a Rocket. He wore a black coat and black hat, and just ran down here.”

“Yeah, he ran that way,” Seven said, pointing down the alley behind her. The man thanked her, and they all ran off, pulling clubs and knives out of their pockets. Seven shivered, turned away, and left the alley.

As she turned towards the fountain plaza, however, she sensed someone watching her from the alley. Unnerved, she turned back around, but she saw no one. With a last look at the rooftops, she walked back into the plaza.

Before she could leave, someone tapped her on the shoulder. She turned to face them and flinched when she saw the officer’s badge.

“Sorry to startle you,” the tall, muscular officer said. “I’m collecting witness statements. Did you see what happened here?”

“No,” she told him, pointing at the alley from where she came. “I was over there just now. Why, what happened?”

“A robbery,” the cop told her as he wrote on a notepad. His callused fingers rasped against the paper, creating a chilling, shrill squeak. His penmanship was slow and meticulous, and Seven felt a slight temptation to peek at the neat, orderly writing on the paper. “Now, did you happen to see the person who fled the scene?”

“Well, I saw a man with a black coat and black hat run past me. Then those guys knocked me over.”

“Oh, the White Knights. Did you see anything else?”

“No. They ran after him, and I walked over here.”

The officer made an elegant flourish with his pen and left a neat black period on the paper. “Alright then. I’ll just need your name and address, and then you can go.”

Seven’s blood froze. Hastily, she started “Ste-” but remembered her current visage and said, “Serena Sun.”

The officer wrote each letter of the false name as if carving them into stone. “Alright, and your address?”

She knew that the word “address” referred to an area of residence, but she had no address to give the man. Then she remembered the numbers plastered on the window of a smoothie shop she had visited, along with a street sign near it. Praying that she remembered correctly, she gave him the number and street name. Each letter of the fabricated address sank into the paper with as resolute and immovable a hand as if they were welded onto a block of steel.

“Thank you, and stay safe on your way home, alright?”

Seven held back a deep breath of relief, nodded, and walked towards the hiding hole on her map, telling herself again and again not to run. Once she was alone, she resisted the urge to flee no longer and sprinted to the dead-end alley. Only when she knocked on the door did she realize she forgot to change her illusion back, and she changed it just before the eyes peered out at her.

Safe inside the hidden room, she handed the man her hard-earned pokéball and slumped against the wall.

“Tough day, I wager,” he said as he cracked the pokeball’s chip off. “Too bad you didn’t get much out of it. Just a Caterpie. Oh well, it still counts towards your total.” The man licked his lips and cackled. “Better hurry, though you don’t want to disappoint Giovanni.”

That night, Seven lay sleepless in her bed, plagued with fear, disappointment, and the lingering sensation that someone was watching her. She shuddered, pulled the blankets tighter over her, and squeezed her eyes shut until sleep took her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 8/19/18 - polished the prose a touch


	10. Chapter 10

It was the fifth day. Though Seven looked all day yesterday, not once did she ever see a space that wasn’t teeming with white masks peering out of every corner. They multiplied overnight. At first, she thought she was paranoid, seeing tricks of her own devising, but the few times she dared to venture into those shadows, she saw those faces were all too real.

And now, with three days dwindling away, half of the people walking the streets bore white masks.

It only took three blocks of white-masked crowds for Seven to realize fighting was no longer an option. The only option was to steal their pokéballs without drawing attention to herself.

During her first attempt, she forgot all about the thumbprint locks. She walked up to an unmasked woman and gave a pokéball on her belt a quick tug. In the fraction of a second she had between her fingers slipping off of the pokéball’s smooth surface and the woman turning to glare at her, Seven crouched, turned invisible, rolled through a space in the herd of pedestrians, reappeared right under the noses of five people, and came up, as if she had stopped to tie her shoes. The woman’s wrath was redirected to the nearest target while Seven slipped into an alley, shivering and wiping sweat from her brow.

It took fifteen minutes of deep breathing and reminding herself the consequences of failure to tiptoe out of the alley. During that time, she came up with a plan. Her eyes darted up and down the street, hunting for unmasked faces and sagging belts laden with pokéballs. After ten minutes of searching, she found the perfect mark. A corpulent, sweating man lumbered up a street, sucking a lollipop and listening to music with oversized headphones. His long, curly black hair was matted down by the headphones, and a few stray locks swished in front of his eyes. The man didn’t bother to brush them aside, nor did he move an inch for pedestrians approaching from the opposite direction.

Seven followed closely behind him for half an hour, staring intently at his hands. For the duration of that time, she was thwarted by the man’s habit of keeping his hands in his pockets, but then he reached up to pluck the chewed stick, all that remained of his lollipop, from his lips and toss it on the street. With a flick of his fingers, his thumbprint was exposed to the sunlight, and Seven etched every line of it onto her own finger.

Armed with what she needed, Seven darted down an alley, quickly cut back onto the street ahead of the man, and walked towards him. As she passed, her hand snaked to his belt and plucked a pokéball. The man ambled on, oblivious to the subtle weight lifted from his hips, and Seven walked away, tucking her prize in a pocket.

She dared not steal another, not now, with the first mistake fresh in her mind. Instead, she retreated to the safe house, where the ball collector waited for her.

“Finally got your second one? Time’s running out, rookie.” He placed it on the table and said, “Not a bad score this time, but sadly, it still only counts as one.”

“What is it?” Seven asked.

The man blinked and stared at her like an owl. “You didn’t see it?”

“I just grabbed and ran.”

The man gave a knowing smile. “Had to rush, eh? Yeah, the white masks are getting out of hand.”

The machine whirred and clicked. The man picked up the pokéball and tossed it in the air. “That Marcus guy gave a huge speech yesterday morning, calling out the police and claiming that they’re the ones reducing crime now. Then he invited everyone to join in on the white mask party, and next thing you know, the street’s crawling with them. I’d wager everyone will be wearing white by the end of the week.”

Seven frowned. “That makes it a lot harder.”

The man laughed at her. “Harder? It’s easy as pie now! All it takes is a white mask, and you’re invisible. I’d buy one if I were you, they’re five bucks for the cheap ones.”

Seven didn’t have a dime on her, but her powers could make a mask indistinguishable from one plucked from the shelves. And so, the next day, she roamed about the streets in complete anonymity, guarded by the image of a white mask and a billowing brown cloak, much like the truncheon-wielding white-masked thugs lurking in the alleys favored.

People in the streets gave her wide berth on the sixth day, except for a few white-masks that came close for a courteous greeting. From each of these, Seven plucked a single pokéball on their belts and grinned at the thought of stealing from those she once feared. Her take that day amounted to three Pokémon, one of which made the uniformed man at the safe house raise his eyebrows high.

On the seventh day, Seven abandoned the cloak in favor of a less menacing appearance. Almost everyone in the streets wore masks now, and the few whose faces were exposed to sunlight made nervous glances about themselves as they walked. Those with masks walked taller, and smiles lit their faces behind the slit of the masks. They spoke among themselves without a care and made toasts over cups of coffee to an era without crime.

Like a shadow, Seven crept behind them, mimicking their every move. By noon, she had stolen the last six she needed. She turned towards the safe house, but then, with a wide, feral grin, she asked herself why she should stop. Through mile after mile of streets, she wafted between pedestrians like a chilling breeze, scooping up pokéballs like crackling brown leaves and stuffing them in the huge, deep pockets of her leather coat.

It was almost sunset when she returned to the safe-house. Her pockets bulged and thumped against her thighs with every step. She had to turn sideways to fit through the door, and she jammed her hands on top of each pocket to hold her prizes inside.

“You sure took your time,” the man mused. “Six in one day is quite a challenge, so I don’t blame you if you came up short.”

Seven took off her coat and up-ended it over the table. A cascade of pokeballs poured out, thumping on the table like hail and bouncing onto the floor. The man stared, dumbfounded, as the pokéballs covered the floor of the tiny room.

“Holy shit,” he said breathlessly. “How the hell did you get all these?”

Seven smiled and picked up an armful of pokéballs, setting them on the table like a carton of eggs. “Trade secret.”

The man’s brow furrowed for a moment, and then a chuckle left his lips. “Ah, you must be a hacker. Better enjoy it while it lasts, it won’t take more than a week for a new firewall to block you.”

It took over an hour to sort out all the pokéballs. Her score had ranged from lowly Pidgey and Meowth to rare gems like Vuplix and Cloyster.

“Giovanni’s going to be pleased,” the man said, holding out his hand. “Welcome to Team Rocket, brother.”

***

“Well, this is a disaster,” Officer Peter said as he leafed through a tall pile of missing Pokémon reports on his desk. Bruno craned his neck and glanced at the topmost paper, reporting the disappearance of an Ivysaur. “At least fifty Pokémon were reported missing, and all of them had their chips removed. Nothing found at the last known location reported by the GPS signals, and with all those masks, eyewitnesses are useless.”

Bruno wrote a question and passed it to Peter. “It’s a hacker, from the sounds of it,” the officer said, answering the question. “Must be in response to that speech.” Peter sighed, slumped back in his chair, and took a long swallow of lukewarm coffee from a dented paper cup. “Well, nothing we can do about it now. Let’s go home and leave this to the software techs.”

Bruno gave an inquisitive bark. Peter chuckled and ruffled his hair.

“Alright, we’ll stop for donuts on the way back.”

***

“Well, this is a disaster,” Admin Colson said as he sipped tea from a porcelain cup. “Just about everyone’s going around with white masks and harassing anyone who looks remotely suspicious. They even assaulted a few of Fisher’s men.”

Giovanni unwrapped a few briquettes of charcoal, dropping the ashen cloth wrapping in a wastebasket, and dropped the charcoal into the holes on his Torkoal’s back. White, odorless smog hissed from the cracks in its shell, and a wave of heat rose around the Pokémon. A thick black tea kettle, which rested on the flat top of its shell, gave a shrill whistle as steam burst from its spout. Off to the side, in a ceramic bowl and underneath a linen cloth, were fresh peach slices and candied pineapple.

“Disaster?” Giovanni asked. Then he chuckled, a laugh full of gentle mirth, and yet laden with enough malice to make the Torkoal tuck its head into its shell. “This is perfect. The White Knights are more vulnerable than ever with the sudden flux of wannabes and copycats.”

“That may be true for now,” Colson said, pressing buttons in his uniform and bringing up a holographic image of statistical data on Giovanni’s desk, graphs with blue streaks darting through them and red arrows pointing to alarming figures, “But they’re assimilating the newcomers into their ranks with incredible haste. Within a week or two, there’ll be nowhere to hide.”

“That’s why we’re going to strike now.” Giovanni picked up the kettle with a hand-tailored oven mitt, embroidered with the Rocket R, and poured himself a cup of strong black tea. “You have the intel on their main base, right?”

With a flick of his fingers, Colson brought up a blueprint of a large warehouse on Giovanni’s desk. The interior was heavily renovated, with steel-reinforced walls and cameras lining every hallway. “Yes sir, but it won’t be easy, even for us. The cramped space means we can only send in a small team, and it’s likely they’ve made changes to the facility in the last few days. They will be expecting us.”

Giovanni reached into the ceramic bowl and took out a peach slice. He wiggled it in front of the Torkoal’s head, coaxing it out of its shell. The Torkoal crept out, tentatively reached for the peach slice, and took it from Giovanni’s fingers. It chewed methodically and stared cautiously at him.

“But we have something they could never expect.”

Admin Colson’s eyes narrowed. “Are you sure that’s wise?”

Giovanni lifted up a metal bin that had been sitting next to his chair. Colson’s eyes widened when it, and the sixty pokéballs it held, were set in front of him.

“That was Subject Seven’s take for today,” he said. “It has proven quite resourceful, wouldn’t you say?”

Admin Colson nodded and lowered his head. “I’ll make the necessary arrangements.”

“Good. Also, send for Seven.” Giovanni picked up a piece of pineapple, rolled it between his fingers, and ate it. Then he cleaned off every last granule of sugar with a generous dollop of hand sanitizer. “I would like to congratulate it and give it the orders myself.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Changelog: 8/19/18 - just some writing tweaks, fixing things I don't like in the prose


	11. Chapter 11

Seven’s chest froze as she thought of Seamus, lying slumped back with a hole in his head, his blood pooling on the plastic-covered carpet beneath the chair she sat upon. Giovanni, wore the same suit from last night, had the same haircut, watched her with the same cold eyes, and yet, with arms loose on the sides of his desk and a delicate smile curling up the points of his thin, pale lips, he exuded a comforting presence. Seven felt herself relax into the luxurious cushions.

“There have been many Rockets whose Pokémon theft sprees far surpassed yours,” he said, taking a sip from a glass of red wine. A tiny rivulet slipped down his mouth and onto his chin. Seven flinched at the suggestion of blood. He took out a white handkerchief, thoroughly wiped the smear away, and then applied some sanitizer to his face.

“However, the best amateur stole twenty-four during their week.” Giovanni drummed his fingers on the desk. “They became an Admin, briefly.”

Seven’s hands twitched at that thought. “What are you trying to say?”

“What I’m saying is that you have potential.” He pushed a ceramic bowl, half-full of candied pineapple, towards her. “Care for some?”

Seven gingerly picked up a single sugar-coated piece and placed it in her mouth. She had to conceal her surprise as the sweet, fruity flavor tickled her tongue.

“Thank you,” Seven said.

Giovanni didn’t answer her. Instead, he reached into his desk and pulled something out. It remained in his right hand as he returned his attention to her.

“Tell me, what’s the best way to kill someone?”

Seven was taken aback by this question. She puzzled it over for a few minutes before admitting, “I don’t know. I haven’t killed anyone before.”

Giovanni’s eyes narrowed. Wrinkles as hard as jagged stone cliffs furrowed his brow, and his cheekbones jutted from his jawline like mountaintops. “If you want to be a Grunt, you better get used to it.”

Seven gave a wordless, frantic nod, and the hard lines on his face vanished. Then he held up his right hand, revealing a knife tucked in his fingers. With a flick of his wrist, the switch-blade flipped out of the hilt, glittering in the soft green light filtered through fern leaves.

“I always keep a knife on me,” Giovanni said. He picked up a whole tangerine, sliced it in half, cleaned the knife, and peeled the fruit apart with a handkerchief-covered hand. “A gun is noisy, obvious, and serves only to kill. Knives, however, are silent, easy to hide, and have many other uses.”

He placed a tangerine wedge in his mouth and chewed it slowly, and again, juices started trickling out of his mouth. Seven peered closer and saw that the corner of his lip was marred by a thin, white scar that left a hole in his mouth, so small it could only be seen while he was eating.

Giovanni noticed her stare and covered the scar with the handkerchief, plugging the leaking hole. “That was from when I was a kid,” he said. “I learned that day the value of a knife.”

Once he cleaned his face again, he pressed the blade into the hilt, set the knife down, and slid it across the table. Seven picked it up and gave it an experimental wave. The blade lazily flopped out, half in, half-out. She pushed it the rest of the way and examined her hazy reflection in the flat of the blade.

“Thank you,” she said, pushing on the blunt side of the blade. She nearly sliced her fingers when the blade snapped back into the hilt.

“Oh, and take these too.” Giovanni took a pokéball out of his desk and tossed it at Seven. She fumbled at its slippery surface and caught it with the tips of her fingers. The word “Magneton” was etched in black on the pokéball’s red half.

“I give those to you because they may be useful on your first official mission.” Giovanni leaned forward, clasped his hands together, set his arms on the desk, and slid aside a small pile of papers with his elbow. “Fisher’s going to attack a White Knight facility. I want you on that assault team. It’ll be a good place to prove your worth.”

Giovanni fell silent and stared at her, as if waiting for an answer. Seven swallowed and nervously said, “O-okay.”

“Good.” Giovanni leaned back and ate another tangerine slice. “Dekkard will show you to the preparation room. Follow all of Fisher’s orders, and don’t get yourself killed.”

At the mention of his name, Dekkard knocked on the door. It opened, and Dekkard waved Seven over. Seven glanced back and forth between the two, said a quick and courteous goodbye to Giovanni, and followed Dekkard down the hall of Admins.

“Damn Steve, you’re one lucky bastard,” he said as they walked down halls Seven didn’t recognize. Grunts strode through the halls. Some glanced at her as they passed, and others paid her no mind, but none spoke. “Keep this up, and you’ll be an Officer like me in no time.”

The moment they turned one corner, Seven felt a sudden silence hit her like a feather pillow. Room after room was completely vacant, and a thin layer of dust, like drifting ash from a volcano, settled over the beds, tables, and computers. After a quarter mile of the eerie emptiness, Seven heard a high-pitched whine echoing inside the walls. The further they walked, the louder it became, until Seven had to grit her teeth to keep herself from shouting.

“So, you can hear it?” Dekkard asked, who saw Seven’s discomfort. “You’ve got good ears. Don’t worry, we won’t have to get too close to the generators.”

True to his word, they took the next left, away from the whine of unseen machinery. Instead, she heard the sounds of ruffling clothes, the clack of safety harnesses being buckled together, the harsh ripping of Velcro, and mechanical clicking and thumping noises as guns were checked and assembled.

Dekkard knocked twice on the door from which the sounds came. The door swung open, revealing a bare, clean locker room with gleaming steel lockers and security cameras perched over the lockers. Ten men and two women strapped bulletproof vests and padded leggings over their uniforms, fitted helmets snugly over their heads, and strapped pokéballs and guns to holsters on their bodysuits.

One man, bigger and beefier than all the others, sauntered over to Seven and Dekkard. Even through the pads and helmet, she recognized Admin Fisher.

“So, we meet again rookie,” Fisher said. “I can’t believe I’m stuck babysitting you on this mission.”

Seven had no idea how to respond, so she bowed her head and said, “Yes sir.”

Despite the shining black face shield, Seven could tell he scowled at her answer. “Just stay close to Dekkard and don’t get shot. Think you can manage that?”

“Yes sir.”

Fisher sighed, which was magnified by the radio in his helmet and carried to all the other helmets in the room. He pointed at an unopened locker. “Shut up and suit up. I don’t have all day.”

Seven opened the locker. Inside was a vest, of sturdy Kevlar and blazoned with the red R, a pair of padded pants, rugged boots that reached halfway to her knees, a helmet, and an assault rifle, pre-assembled and a click of the safety away from pumping fifty rounds into anything within a quarter mile of the barrel’s sight.

Expecting ill-fitting gear, Sam slipped the pants on and found them snugly fitting at her waist. The vest clamped on like a second skin, and even the boots matched her feet. The helmet afforded just enough room for her long, lupine face. At first, the suit felt hot and stuffy, but with a gentle whir, the machine’s air filtering system activated, pumping fresh, cold air around her face. The screen lit up, revealing everything around her in resolution better than even her own eyes. She strapped the gun to her back, slipped the knife into a small loop at her waist, and clacked the Magneton’s pokeball onto her belt.

“Too slow!” Fisher barked over the radio. “Now follow the map to the van. I even left a nice big green marker for you, like a frickin’ videogame. You can’t miss it!”

A grid-like diagram popped up on the screen of her helmet, in the upper right corner. After a few twists and turns, she figured out that the yellow lines represented walls, the blue arrow indicated her position and the direction she faced, and a blinking green light pointed the way down a long hall. 

After a minute, she arrived at the entrance to a small, damp garage. It had a cave-like appearance to it, with stalagmites hanging from the ceiling and silt-laden drops falling to the ground. A few tiny spikes rose from the concrete floor in between the vehicles, and some abandoned vehicles with smashed headlights and dented bumpers had hats of stone.

Using the blinking green light, she found a thick black van waiting at the far end of the garage. Fisher leaned against the back, tapping his foot on the ground and staring at her.

“Come on, chop chop! Daylight’s burning!”

Seven sprinted over and got whacked on the back as she passed him. She clambered into the trunk and took a seat next to Dekkard.

“Wow, seems like only yesterday we brought you here in this van,” he said through the radio. “Then again, I suppose it was only a few weeks.”

Fisher leapt into the back, slammed the doors behind him, and sat at the farthest end, towards the driver’s seat. He gave two banging knocks on the wall, and the engine roared. Tires screeching, they sped off. Seven barely got the belt buckled before they careened through the first curve. Through the pads, the belt bit into her upper shoulder as her body leaned forward from its inertia.

After a frantic minute, the van settled into a leisurely pace and merged with traffic. Seven heard the sounds of other vehicles surrounding them for a while, but then, they veered off an exit, and the sounds died away.

A few minutes later, the van stopped. Two Grunts threw the doors open and leapt out, guns raised. After thirty seconds, they motioned with one hand for the others to get out. Dekkard leapt to his feet, gun in hand, and followed the crowd out. Seven fumbled with the seat belt, then clumsily grabbed the gun from her back and followed.

They were in the middle of a cracked, crumbling parking lot, surrounded by low, squat metal warehouses. Amidst the sea of rusted corrugated steel, one building looked sleek as polished silver, with a white WK painted over the door.

“Idiots,” Fisher said over the radio. “It’s like they’re sending us an invitation.” He broke his gun apart, checked each piece and meticulously slid them back together. Then he fingered each of the six pokéballs at his waist. Seven looked around, saw that everyone did the same, and copied them.

Fisher gestured towards the door. Two Grunts brought bulky, flat, black boxes and pressed them against the door. They stuck to the steel. The Grunts gave the Admin a thumb up and backed away from the door.

Everyone else raised their weapons. Seven clumsily followed suit.

“Alright everyone,” Fisher shouted so loudly that Seven almost dropped her gun. He raised a hand in the air. “It’s party time!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Changelog: 8/19/18 - a few aesthetic edits


	12. Chapter 12

Seven clapped her hands over her ears when the blast charges went off. At least, she tried to. Instead, she slapped the sides of her helmet and dropped her gun. If the safety hadn’t been on, then it would’ve pumped a dozen rounds through Dekkard’s foot.

The metal frame screamed as the door it held was blasted inward with a concussive push. It bounced across the floor, and then screeched across a dozen feet of metal floor before crashing against a wall. A dull, hollow echo rang from inside the building.

Fisher glared at her before charging in. “If the boss didn’t order me otherwise,” he growled over the radio, “I’d use you as a meat shield. Now, take the rear, and if anyone ambushes us from behind, yell out before you die.”

Fisher sprinted through the smoking entryway, and his Grunts dashed after him. Dekkard gave a nod of his head towards the door, waiting for Seven to pick up her gun. Her fingers trembled as they wrapped around the trigger.

“Move it!” Dekkard shouted. “They’re leaving us behind!”

Dekkard ran off, and Seven followed after, overtaking him within seconds and loping within sight of the rear. Moments later, Dekkard caught up, panting and sweaty.

“Wow, you sure can run,” he said between gasping breaths. “No wonder you were able to get away from the White Knights during your initiation.”

Seven’s legs shook, but whether it was nerves or the sudden exertion, she couldn’t tell. The hallways around her were dark and oppressive. Shadows loomed at every turn, and unseen eyes peered at her from all directions. She strangled the urge to run back to daylight and focused on each halting, shaking footstep.

After a few minutes, they arrived at a long hallway, dimly lit with unseen lights in the ceiling. Its end was a pinprick in the distance, and it branched off into many smaller hallways.

“Stay sharp,” Fisher said. “They’ll do it here.”

Seven was just about to ask what they were going to do when they did it. Smoke billowed out of vents in the ceiling, swirling and glittering in the light. In an attempt to illuminate the path ahead, Seven’s visor switched to night vision, but bright flashes, like fireworks, made her reflexively shield her eyes with her left hand, to no effect.

“Damn, they’re jamming IR!” Fisher shouted. “Take cover!”

Down the hall, Seven heard a rumble, ponderous and low at first, but speeding up to a ear-splitting whine. Then, a string of quick pops, so rapid that they blended together into a lawn mower’s whir, thundered down the hallway. Bullets sailed through the air and careened off of the walls.

Seven glanced to the sides, looking for somewhere to hide, but a bullet struck her in the neck, tearing a hole in her suit and drawing blood from a long, shallow nick just shy of her jugular. Her visor lost power, and the air circulation stopped. She was suddenly stifled in darkness, and she felt the unseen scalpels and drills closing in.

A hand grabbed her by the shoulder and dragged her down a hall. Though her radio was silent and the din of the machine gun rang in her ears, she could faintly make out Dekkard’s voice.

“Hey, stay with me! You’ll make it!”

Panic gripped her throat. Seven clawed at the helmet, clumsily undid the clasps, yanked it free of a cluster of wires, and flung it aside. The helmet bounced off of a wall and rolled back out into the hallway, where it was swept away by the stream of bullets.

“The stupid night vision won’t turn off,” Dekkard said. Seven’s eyes wouldn’t focus, but she heard him take off his own helmet, set it aside, and let out a loud gasp.

When her eyes finally focused again, she saw Dekkard, helmet off, pointing his rifle at her with a combination of panic, disgust, and disbelief on his face.

“Subject Seven,” he hissed. “Now it makes sense.”

Seven vanished and leapt to the right, stopping just inches from the thick cloud of smoke lingering in the hallway. Bullets sailed through the air where she was just a moment before. One hit her shoulder, ripping apart a chunk of muscle and spraying a spatter of blood onto the wall.

Seven waited, gun raised, listening for the faintest shuffle of feet or the slightest breath of air passing through his lips. For the longest time, the only sound she heard was a powerful hiss of air from a vent right over her head, pumping a warm gust of air to keep the smoke bottled up in the hall.

Seven started to sweat, and despite the hot air rushing through her fur, she felt deathly cold, as if she were yet again anesthetized and set on the operating table. Needles and scalpels closed in all around her, and she strangled her breath in her throat. Light began to flash before her eyes, the red circles of Ghetsis’ eyepiece staring at her from every angle.

Then she heard the echo of a footstep against the floor. On impulse, she flipped the safety and squeezed the trigger. Bullets poured out of her rifle and into Dekkard’s chest. The first five bounced off of his Kevlar, a sixth dug into the tough, stringy fabric, and the rest tore it, along with the flesh beneath, to bloody shreds. 

When the bullets stopped, Seven squeezed the trigger again, and again, but the gun only gave hollow clicks in response. Only then did she dare to make herself visible and see what had happened. A huge red puddle seeped across the narrow hall. The tiny rivulets that crept towards her feet were blown forward by the hot air and quickly dried into cracked red stains.

“There it is again!” a voice, high-pitched and timorous, called from down the hallway. “Someone’s down there!”

“I’m telling you, it’s just the gatling,” a second voice, deep and resonant like a string bass, answered.

“The gatling sounds different,” the first retorted. “And it takes a while for it to warm up. Those two bursts were too quick.”

“Alright, alright, but I’m telling you, there’s nothing for them to shoot at. We should be waiting at the ambush point with the others.”

The voices grew louder, and now she could hear footsteps. Seven turned back to the main hallway, but the smoke still hung thick in the air.

“Quiet,” the first hissed, “We don’t want them to know we’re coming.”

Seven’s eyes darted around in a panic. Then she looked up, at the thick metal grate covering the vent. She sprung up, dug her nails into the metal, pushed the grate upward, crawled inside, and slid the grate back in place. The cramped metal interior was even hotter than the air it vented suggested. Everywhere her suit touched the metal grew uncomfortably warm, and the air threatened to stifle her. Sweat ran like rivers down her face, and she could feel it slosh around in her suit every time she shifted her weight. Her wounds throbbed, and trickles of clotting blood soaked the fur around her shoulder. Were it not for the thin slivers of light emanating from the grate, she would’ve leapt down and welcomed the bullets.

One man whistled. “Wow, the gatling did a number on this guy.”

The other walked towards the hallway and glanced at the walls around it. “If the gatling did this, how did his body get here?”

The high-pitched man thought for a moment. “Someone dragged it? See? There’s streaks of blood leading away from there.”

“Don’t be an idiot. First off, that someone would have to be here, and second, who would drag a corpse over here?”

“Maybe they thought they were still alive and – wait, someone’s still here?”

“I said, don’t be an idiot!” the second said, banging his hand on the wall. “There’s no one else here, so could we go back to the ambush point before someone thinks a Rocket killed us and took our uniforms?”

The flashing lights came back, and her head spun. She reached for the grate, but then an idea came to her. First, she reached for the knife in her pocket. Her fingers, slick with sweat, kept sliding off of the smooth metal blade, but she finally found purchase with a claw. The blade bit into her claw as it pulled free, and with a grunt of pain, she snapped the blade open, slicing the claw off in the process. 

Then, focusing, she made the sound of footsteps echo off the walls behind the two men. When they turned and raised their guns, Seven yanked the grate off, tumbled out of the vent, and scrambled to her feet. The two White Knights, clad in shining white Kevlar and holding two thick, rugged assault rifles, stood in front of her. The skinny one was wildly pointing his rifle, shouting “Who’s there!” but the heavy-set, muscular man had heard her and started to turn. Seven lunged at him first, sinking the blade into the side of his neck, where the armor was thinnest. Blood gushed around the steel and soaked into the white uniform.

The first man looked at his fallen comrade, yelped, and dropped his gun. He reached for it, but Seven kicked him in the helmet, knocking him on his side. Before he could get up, she jabbed at his neck. He gave a sharp, shrill squeal before his own blood choked him to death.

She wrenched her blade free with a sticky squelching noise. Then she staggered back until she hit the wall and slid to a sitting position, and unbuckled her suit. Her hands, shaking and sweaty, and the pain each time she moved her left shoulder, made undressing a long ordeal. When she finally shrugged off her pants, a rush of sweat, tinged pink with a trickle of her own blood, washed out of the damp suit. She contemplated taking off the cotton Rockets’ uniform underneath. But no, humans always wore clothes.

She leaned back, taking in long, deep breaths of the cool air. It tasted of blood, hot and metallic against her tongue, oddly satisfying. She raised her blood-soaked right hand and gave it a tentative lick. It tasted just as good as the finest beef tenderloin, served raw and bloody at Harmonia Labs. She was half tempted, then and there, to strip the armor off of one and take a bite. Breakfast seemed like hours ago, and the adrenaline coursing through her body roused her appetite. But then she imagined the other Grunts puzzling over the bite marks, wondering what thing, what monster had done it, and turned away from the fallen scrawny Knight.

After some time, Seven didn’t know how long, she finally rose to her feet, legs shaking, and her right hand clasped over her shoulder. She looked back at the smoky hallway. It was too late to turn back. Gripping her knife in her hand, she turned down the shadowy corridor and walked, alone, towards the heart of the enemy lair.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Changelog: 8/19/18 a continuity fix and a few changes to sentence structure


	13. Chapter 13

Seven heard the ambush point up ahead. She had almost walked around that corner, right into the line of fire, but the shuffle of fabric on metal and mild cursing as a strap caught on a protruding screw head alerted her to their presence. Hiding behind the wall, she listened carefully, counting the sounds she heard. Four sets of breathing punctured the silence and distant footsteps suggested more on patrol.

Seven didn’t dare risk a peek around the corner. The hallways were too well lit, and the closest man was about ten feet away. She wanted to turn invisible and slip right past them, but the thought of stumbling over a man while she was blinded made her tongue stick to her throat.

After thinking it through, Seven decided to take a gamble. She thought back to the weasel of a man and copied his appearance. Then she made blood fountain out of her gut, spilling onto the floor. Each drop on the ground, each blood-stained footstep, and each shift in her body held her full attention. She made her breathing hoarse and ragged, with a faint undertone of bubbling blood, and she made each footstep wrench free from the floor with the faint wet squelch of clotting blood.

She stumbled around the corner, leaning against the far wall with a blood-stained arm. The two Knights stationed at the entryway of a small, open room lowered their guns and rushed over, each taking a shoulder. They helped her hobble into the room, in front of their captain. He wore thick white Kevlar plates tipped with gold fabric, and his helm had a single gold star on the brow. He took his helm off and leaned closer at the wound, peering at the bleeding gash with dull brown eyes.

“Darry, what happened?” he asked without looking up.

“Shot,” Seven wheezed. “Got him.”

“Tim’s dead?” the Captain asked grimly.

Seven weakly nodded. She glanced around the room and saw five, the two holding her, the captain, a fourth behind a pane of glass with communications equipment, and the last leaning against a wall, helmet off, smoking a cigarette. The reek of the smoldering white cylinder made Seven wrinkle her nose in disgust. Her concentration slipped, and the blood-stained trail behind her vanished, but she maintained her appearance as a wounded Knight.

“Raz, you and I will treat him. Lou, Rick, take point.”

The leaning man jammed his cigarette against the wall, leaving a circular soot-stain, and slipped on his helmet. The man to her right joined him at the entry point, taking a knee behind a low metal barricade and resting their guns on top. The Captain took her right shoulder, and the two Knights carried her to a small, cramped room. A tiny bed sat in the center, and on one wall, a cabinet and a counter held medical supplies. Raz unrolled a strip of gauze while the captain reached for the armor, trying to undo a clasp that wasn’t there.

“That’s strange,” the Captain said, “I can’t get your armor off.”

Seven tightened her grip around the knife in her right hand, rolled onto her left, dispelled the illusion and jammed the blade into the captain’s throat. Blood gushed all over her fur as the Captain made a hurking noise. His mouth jerked open, and blood gushed over his teeth. Seven grabbed him by the collar of his armor and pulled herself up while dragging him onto the bed.

When Raz turned around, he dropped the gauze. His face twisted up in a grimace of horror. One hand shot up to his mouth, and vomit trickled between his fingers. The other fumbled for his gun. Seven kicked the gun hand away and plunged the blade into his eye. Steel scraped against bone with a sickening crunch. The man gasped, clutched at his ruined eye, and collapsed. The knife slid free, with drops of blood and a stringy piece of flesh clinging to the blade.

Seven picked up the gauze Raz dropped. The growing puddle of blood on the floor stained one end red. She cut away the ruined gauze and wrapped the rest around her arm, clumsily tying a loose knot over her bullet wound. The arm had mostly stopped bleeding, but whenever she bent it, a few drops of blood squeezed out of the craggy, brown scab. The gauze turned crusty as it soaked up the drying blood on her fur.

She pushed the captain off the bed, turning him over as he fell. She studied his helmet and armor carefully, and then she took his appearance. She strode out of the room, careful to block the view of blood and corpses from everyone outside, and approached the communications room.

A bald, thin, wiry man stared blankly at him and reached for a radio on his desk. “Would you like to make a report?”

He held out the big, knob-shaped hunk of plastic. Seven passed the knife to her left hand and took the radio with her right. A voice crackled out of it.

“Come in! Who is this?”

Seven felt a chill pass over her skin as she realized she had no idea how to answer. Hesitantly, she said, “Darry was shot, and Tim’s dead,” he said. “They killed a Grunt.”

“Good, we were missing a few. Who is this?”

Seven shoved the radio back into its receiver. The bald man gave her a queer stare.

“Sir, why didn’t you follow protocol?”

Seven answered him with her knife. Her left arm, bound with gauze and weakened from blood loss, lazily slashed across the man’s face. A flap of skin hung over the corner of his mouth, and the tip of his nose was slashed off. The man grunted in pain and reached for the radio. Seven tossed the knife to her other hand and jammed the blade through his wrist. Bones snapped, and metal crunched as her knife pierced the radio. The man’s mouth opened for a scream, but Seven grabbed the back of his head and drove him down on the grip of her knife. The blunt handle slid off of his upper cheek, followed the contour of his nose, and rammed into his mouth. Blood gushed past his lips as she broke four of his teeth. He screamed, but blood and knife muffled his cries, and the soundproof window sealed them in. He flailed, his good hand reaching for the window, but he couldn’t touch it.

Seven looked out, at the two guards. Both of them were staring intently down the hall. Seven took a deep breath, pulled the man off of her blade, snapped it up before the man’s hand could wrap around it, and slit his throat. She angled him towards the floor so the blood didn’t hit the window.

Once the man stopped breathing, Seven shoved him beneath the window and walked over to the two guards. They gave her a quick salute and went back to their guns.

“Hey Captain,” one said without looking up from his gun, “There’s something weird?”

“What is it?” Seven asked, imitating the man’s smooth voice.

“All the blood from before is gone. It vanished a little while after you took Darry in there. Lou swears I’m crazy, but he didn’t see it vanish. It was just… just gone.”

“You are crazy,” Lou grumbled. “Blood doesn’t just disappear.”

“Then where the hell did it go?”

Lou shrugged. His gun wobbled with his hands. “How should I know? But I do know it didn’t vanish in the blink of an eye.”

Seven tightened her grip around her hidden blood-soaked knife. “I think I know where the blood went.”

“Really?” Rick asked. “I’d love to hear you explain it.”

Seven grabbed his helmet, tilted it up, and jabbed her knife into his throat. Blood bubbled out of the slit in the sturdy black fabric as Rick gurgled and fell to his side.

“It’s right there,” Seven said.

Seven lunged at Lou, aiming the knife just under his visor, but he brought up his left arm and parried the blade aside. With his right, he lifted the assault rifle off of the barricade and pointed it at her. Closing her eyes, she vanished and darted left, towards the barricade. She leapt up, trying to land on top, but her feet caught on the top of the wall, and she tumbled behind it. A stream of bullets followed her steps, but they flew over her.

The needles and scalpels glowed red around her as she groped her way across the barricade, clambered to her feet, and circled closer to Lou’s frantic breathing. Once she thought she was behind him, she reappeared. She blinked as the sudden light blinded her, and she regained her sight just in time to see Lou turning towards her, gun raised. Seven stuck her knife right in his carotid artery and twisted the blade. Lou fell with a grunt, and his gun clattered on the floor.

Seven staggered back, dropping the knife. Her left arm throbbed beneath the gauze, and the stringy bandage had turned scarlet. She turned, slipped on the blood, and scrambled back up the barricade onto her feet. With slow, trembling steps, she stumbled into a break room. A plastic cup was on the table. She could smell the moisture wafting from its water. Smacking her lips, Seven raced towards the table. Her trembling fingers knocked over the cup, spilling water on the table. With a rasping cry of despair, she bent down to drink, but she stopped. A tiny voice, nearly drowned out by the shouting urge to drink, insisted that a human wouldn’t stoop to lapping up water like an animal.

Goaded by that voice, Seven picked up the cup and examined the room. A water cooler in the corner caught her eye. With the press of a button, water gushed out of a nozzle, splashing off of the plastic tray and dripping onto the floor. Seven set the cup beneath the run of water, waited for it to fill up, and raised the paper to her lips. The blood in her fur tainted the water, but that sweetened the taste.

Once she gulped it down, she was struck by a pang of hunger. She rummaged around the break room, nibbled at a bit of dry crumbly pretzel, and disgustedly turned away from the inedible snacks.

When she walked back into the main area, amidst the strewn corpses and growing lake of blood, the smell whipped her hunger into a frenzy. Before she could stop herself, she stripped the nearest man, Lou, of his Kevlar armor. Blood gushed from the sodden clothes as she tossed them aside, leaving the dead man with nothing above his waist. As her head dropped closer to the tantalizing human flesh, Seven screamed at herself to stop, that a human absolutely would not eat another human, especially raw, like some wolf in the woods. But, for every impulse she had to wrench herself away, ten more pushed her closer, close enough to smell the cigarette ash clinging to his skin, feel the heat fading from his lifeless body, see the tiny hair follicles embedded in his skin, and the blue veins of blood beneath.

Seven opened her mouth, paused for a moment as she struggled one last time to stop herself, and bit down. As blood seeped weakly from the bite, Seven closed her eyes, not daring to see what lay beneath. She couldn’t stop herself from feeling the floppy, wet pieces of flesh brush against her lips and slip over her tongue as she swallowed them whole. She shivered as she ate, and tears trickled down her muzzle.

Only when she was finally sated was she able to wrench herself away from Lou. His cigarette reek clung to her tongue, making her queasy. She tried to puke it all out, digging a few fingers into the back of her throat, but nothing came back up. It was all stuck down there. She grabbed another glass of water to wash the stink out of her mouth, but no amount of water cleansed herself of the shame she felt. She huddled down in a corner, buried her head in her bloodied arms, and repeatedly muttered, “I’m not a Pokémon.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Changelog:
> 
> 9/3/18 - minor edits to grammar and wording


	14. Chapter 14

How long Seven sat there, she couldn’t tell. Blood formed a sticky crust around her mouth, and her eyes ached. Her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth, and with a trembling hand, she reached for the half empty cup on the table and poured its contents into her mouth. To her dazed mind, the water seemed like blood, hot, viscous, and painfully tantalizing. She recoiled, coughed, and pushed herself further into the corner, away from the drops of water glistening on the floor. A faint red tinge darkened each drop.

“Come on,” Seven rasped to herself, “Get up. Someone will come, sooner or later. You have to go.”

Her legs refused to move. Using her arms, she hoisted herself into a chair and reached for the pretzels. She shoved a handful into her mouth and chewed. The taste, like sawdust soaked in brine, smothered the taste of blood. This time, when she drank, she was able to keep the water down.

A howl, further in the building but close enough to hear clearly, made Seven jump to her feet. She crouched, peeked around the door frame, and waited for another sound.

The sounds of footsteps echoed from down the far hallway, at least four men accompanied by the howling Pokémon. She thought first of turning invisible and running back, but there was nowhere to go. She looked around for a hiding place, ran into the medical room, assumed Darry’s appearance, and lay down, as if her throat were slit on the bed. Though the illusion had closed eyes, her own were opened, peering through the door. By some sick twist of fate, Lou’s corpse lay in her sight, belly ripped open, organs strewn across the floor. She gagged, forced herself to swallow the vomit creeping up her throat, and glanced away.

The Mighteyna came first, a black blur that raced over to Lou’s corpse and sniffed at the strewn entrails. A white-clad man ran after, his feet squelching against the blood-slick floor, and cuffed the hound on the head.

“Enough!” the man barked. He glanced down at Lou. Despite his armor, the man visibly shuddered. “Sweet Jesus,” he spat, “Those Rocket bastards aren’t human.”

Seven clenched her hands. The motion of her muscles made a faint creak in the mattress underneath her. The man, as if hearing the noise, turned towards her. Seven caught the breath in her throat and waited, begging her throbbing heart to quiet itself. The rush of blood filled her ears as the man, gun raised and pointed right at her, approached the room. He swung the door open with the barrel of his gun, jumped to the corner, and half-slipped on blood. He caught himself on the wall and lifted his right foot to examine the red smear on his boot.

Resisting the urge to turn her head, Seven looked at the man, no, the Captain, judging by the gold stars and embossing on his armor.

“Damn. Everyone, stay on alert! They may still be here.” He knelt, keeping his knees from touching the floor, and examined the dead Captain. “Fan out in pairs and search the other rooms. Call if you find anything.”

Footsteps thundered towards the other rooms. The Captain checked Raz’s corpse, tipping the head back and pressing a finger into the gash. “Still fresh,” he murmured. Then he turned towards the door. “Rascal, here!”

The Mightyena, which was poking its nose into Lou’s stomach, bounded over to the Captain’s side. It put its paws onto the bed, sniffed at Seven, and growled, low, wild, and menacing. Its fur bristled, and its teeth glowed like polished silver.

“Down Rascal!” the Captain shouted. “You’ll eat later.” Then he muttered, “Good God, what kind of maniac lets their Pokémon eat people?”

Seven twitched again. The captain whirled, gun pointed at her. He checked under the bed, then circled the perimeter of her mattress, before bending over her. His fingers grabbed at the gauze around her arm, and she stifled a scream as he pried open the gauze. Sticky, clotting black blood made thick strings, like a cat’s cradle.

“A bullet wound, but all the rest are knife wounds. Why is that?” He turned the bed sheets in his hands. “Not much blood on here either.”

The Captain walked out of the room, stopping just outside of the door. The Mightyena glared at her, and then followed its master. The Captain raised his hand to the side of his helmet and spoke.

“No sign of Rockets here,” he reported. “All members of squad twelve died of knife wounds to the throat very recently. What are your orders?” After he paused, he said, “Yes sir. We’ll hold position and re-establish the perimeter. I will check in every ten minutes.”

The Captain returned to the medical room, followed by his hound. He studied the counter, and found the blood-soaked gauze on the floor. Picking it up, he noted the frayed ends where Seven tore off the clean gauze. He compared it to the loose end that hung heavy with her own blood.

Then he stared long and hard at Seven’s arm, and she could imagine the frown behind the shining black visor. Taking a scalpel from the drawer, the sight of which made Seven tense up again, the Captain walked to Seven’s left and cut the gauze off of her arm. Fresh blood, brought to surface by the removal of all the congealed mass, trickled onto the bed. The Captain pinched a drop between his fingers and stared at the bright red stain.

“How is he still bleeding?” he asked. Then he dug his fingers into the wound. Pain shot up Seven’s arm, she let out a stifled cry from her gritted teeth, and her illusion vanished. The Captain jumped back, shocked by the sudden transformation, and fumbled for the pistol at his side. Seven rolled off the bed and jammed her knife under the Captain’s helmet. The thicker armor around the neck stopped her blade halfway, with just the point piercing the Captain’s throat beneath the jaw. With her throbbing arm, Seven dug her nails into the Captain’s helm and wrenched it up, exposing the weaker fabric beneath. With another push, the blade dug a bit deeper into the man’s throat, releasing another spurt of blood.

Then, as the Mightyena leapt at her with a snarl, Seven yanked out the blade and held it out in front of her. The hound landed on the blade, with the point piercing its ribcage. With a faint gasp of air, the Mighteyna quivered, slid off the blade, and fell at the Captain’s feet.

Blood welled up in the Captain’s throat, and he fell to the floor, coughing violently. He wrenched off his helmet and reached for the cabinet of medical supplies, leaving a thin trail of blood as he wriggled across the room. Seven started towards him, but a rush of footsteps warned her to get back on the bed and hide herself.

The four Knights rushed in, guns raised, and fired blind shots into the walls of the room. Finding no obvious enemy and seeing their captain wounded, two men rushed over hand helped him into a sitting position.

“Where did he go?” one asked.

The Captain tried to speak. “On the… on the…” his words were interrupted by fits of coughing. The two Knights by him stepped back as blood sprayed on their suits.

“Where?” the insisted.

The Captain couldn’t stop coughing. Instead, he feebly pointed towards the bed. The Knights followed the line his finger made past Seven and out the open door. With a word, two Knights stood watch on either side of the door.

Seeing that they still didn’t understand, the Captain used the last of his failing strength to raise a finger to his mouth. He coughed a thick stream of blood and spit onto his finger and drew it across the floor, writing first a b, then an e. Then he drew a long, vertical line, but before he could finish his last letter, he coughed a mouthful of blood, shuddered, and died. The stroke of his finger as it fell left an arc on the line, and it now resembled an h. 

The two Knights puzzled over this unfinished message. “Beh… behind?” one said. “Behind what? Behind us?” 

They whirled and faced the bed. Seven flinched beneath their searching eyes, but they didn’t notice the subtle shift of the bed. They circled the room, scanning every inch of the room, and returned to the Captain. Then they noticed the claw marks on his helm, which tore up flecks of gold paint.

“Damn. How did someone do this?”

“Something,” his partner corrected. “It was probably eating that guy before it heard Rascal and ran. Question is, where did it go? And what the hell is it?”

An idea struck Seven like a bolt of lightning. Surrounded by enemies, with nowhere to run or hide, she needed to distract them and kill them. So, she feebly coughed, drawing the attention of the two Knights in the room.

“Holy shit, he’s still alive!” one shouted. A Knight outside the door turned towards her, but the other nudged him, and they resumed their vigil, though the one Knight kept glancing inside.

“Hey, what did this to you?” they asked. Smiling to herself, Seven raised a shaking hand towards the ceiling. The Knights looked at each other and raised their guns. Seven, thinking that one would go up to search the ceiling, felt a pang of dismay, but she amended her plan. Straining her weary senses, she produced a harsh, wounded cry as the Knights riddled the ceiling with bullets. A single drop of blood, which she made fall from the ceiling, completed the deception.

“Cover me,” one Knight said. “The higher ups will want to know what it was.”

One Knight stood on the counter, pushed up a ceiling tile, and wormed his way into the ceiling.

Once they were alone, Seven coughed and tapped the lone Knight on the arm. She parted her lips, as if to speak. The Knight took off his helm and leaned closer, turning his head so his ear faced her. She wrapped her left arm around him and plunged the knife into his neck. She held his mouth shut and pinned his arms as he struggled. 

Once he was dead, she lowered him onto the bed and glanced towards the two outside. They hadn’t noticed the faint scuffle behind them, but the man on the right turned back to peek into the room. Seven abandoned the illusion, lunged towards him, and stabbed him. The blade ripped through the fabric beneath his helm and released a fountain of blood. Whirling around, she knocked the other guard’s gun aside and lunged. Two shots rang out as the man spasmed in her arms.

The last Knight, hearing the gunshots, wriggled out of the ceiling legs-first. Seven grabbed his feet, yanked him down, and knocked his head on the counter. The man raised a hand, but Seven jabbed the blade past his outstretched fingers and found his jugular. 

Fresh blood seeped over the old as Seven staggered away, holding closed the bleeding wound on her arm. She tore off a fresh roll of gauze, made another poorly tied bandage, and went back to the break room. After drinking another glass of water, Seven started down the far hallway, but the thought of Lou’s mangled corpse turned her gaze. She couldn’t look away Gritting her teeth, she grabbed a handful of paper towels from the break room. She carefully laid a few layers over the open stomach, covering every trace of the wound, and then scattered the rest over him. The towels turned black as they soaked up the blood.

Once the burial was completed, Seven turned away. Though it taxed her weary body and mind, she kept up the human appearance as she plodded down the hall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Changelog:
> 
> 9/3/18 - tweaked the word choice a bit, cut out a few bland descriptions


	15. Chapter 15

“Thank God we finally get a day off,” Peter mumbled as he groped around the edge of his bed for clothes. When his fingers brushed against an old, sweaty white t-shirt, a pair of jeans with spaghetti sauce smeared on one knee, and two mismatched socks, he threw them on. The shirt was backwards, one sock was inside-out, and his fly was open.

Bruno, who was still fast asleep in the other half of the bed, groaned and pulled more covers over himself. Peter chuckled, walked into the bathroom, and turned on the sink so water trickled from the faucet. Cupping his hands, he waited until he had a generous handful of water before splashing it on his face. Feeling a little more alive, Peter shaved with an old razor, cursing every time the dull blades caught on his skin. He made a mental note to buy new razors after the movie.

By the time Peter had scraped his face clean, Bruno rolled out of bed, yawned noisily, and stumbled into the bathroom. He cranked the water onto full blast until drops splashed all over the bathroom, dunked his face under the rushing cold water, and came away with his face sopping wet. Bruno took a brush, jerked it through his tangled hair a few times, and took a long drink from the tap. 

While Bruno filled the bathtub, Peter started two burners and greased two stainless steel frying pans. On one, he set a box of frozen sausages in a row and rolled them in their own melting grease. On the other, he rubbed a dollop of butter around with a plastic spatula until the pan had a thick coating and cracked four eggs over the sizzling butter. He let them sit while he threw two pieces of flimsy bread into a toaster.

When the toast popped out, blackened and crunchy, Peter slathered butter and strawberry jam on each. Then he took a bottle of Tabasco sauce from the fridge, drizzled it over the eggs, and slid them out of the pan. He set two plates, cut the group of sunny-side eggs in half with the spatula, and pushed them onto each plate. Then he added equal portions of sausage and toast, put the plates on the old, care-worn wooden table, and poured two glasses of orange juice.

By the time he was done, Bruno had finished his bath. His glittering blue fur clung tightly like a damp towel, despite the liberal use of two hair dryers. He sniffed the air, which was laden with grease and charred grain, and sat at the table. Peter joined him. Together, they wolfed down breakfast, leaving nothing on the plastic plates but minuscule black crumbs and a faint yellow sheen of egg yolk.

Peter glanced at the clock and felt his stomach drop. It was half past two in the afternoon. He bolted from the table, rummaged around his dresser for the movie tickets, and saw that the movie started in twenty minutes. Halfway to the door, he noticed his dirty apparel. He threw off the spaghetti-encrusted jeans and sweaty t-shirt, dug fresher attire out of his dresser, and threw them on, twirling the shirt around his neck so it faced forward. He left the bedroom, but remembering his little black book, he darted back in and shoved it in a pants pocket. Bruno, noticing his sudden rush, also threw on a black shirt and shorts.

Together, they sprinted out the door, down the manicured sidewalks of the city neighborhood, and arrived, breathless, with five minutes to spare, at the newest movie theater. Its opening premiere, for a long-awaited science-fiction sequel, loomed on an enormous digital screen over the entrance. A thick line of people crowded the huge glass doors of the entrance, and an army of red-vested cashiers rushed to get them seated.

After a four minute wait, Peter and Bruno reached the front of the line. Peter handed the cashier their pre-paid tickets.

“Where’s the second person?” she asked.

Peter glanced around in confusion. Then he smiled and pointed at Bruno. The cashier frowned and pointed at a sign next to the register. It read, “All Pokémon must remain in their pokéballs.”

“He’s city-certified for facility access,” Peter said, showing the cashier a plastic card outlining Bruno’s information.

The cashier took the card and glanced at it. “Well, I guess I can call the manager over. Do you mind waiting by the side while I take care of the others?”

Peter glanced back at the line behind him. Angry glances met his eye, and a few people impatiently checked their watches.

“You know what? I’ve changed mind. I’d like a refund for these tickets.”

“I’m sorry, we don’t do refunds either,” the cashier said.

Peter felt anger swelling in his chest, like a draft of hot air from a fire. Bruno flicked his ears and glanced anxiously at him. Peter was debating what rebuke to throw at the cashier when he remembered the Chief’s warning. With a glance towards Bruno, Peter relaxed his grip on the crumpled tickets, closed his eyes, and took a slow, deep breath, counting every second while focusing on the gentle rush of air past his lips. Then he placed the tickets on the counter, turned around, and left.

Peter strode past the line and bulldozed through the pedestrian-choked sidewalks. Bruno followed after him, ducking and weaving through his wake. After a few minutes, they reached a coffee shop. Peter took the nearest seat, curtly ordered two coffees, and took the black book out of his pants pocket. On each page was a Sudoku puzzle, a nine by nine grid dotted with thick black numbers. Peter patted his pockets for a pencil, and Bruno handed him one of his. Leafing through the pages until he found an unfinished puzzle, Peter leaned over it, ignoring his coffee until he had every square filled. Then he chugged the coffee, wiped his face on his sleeve, leaned back, and smiled.

Bruno scribbled a note and passed it to Peter. It read, “You didn’t have to give up your ticket.”

“We’re partners,” Peter said. “We do everything together, or not at all.”

Bruno took the paper back and added to it. “But then how are we going to see the movie?”

“We’ll just have to wait for it to come up online.”

Bruno’s ears drooped, and he stared sullenly at the half-eaten coffee cake in front of him. Peter thought for a moment, and then he said, “We could always go to the old theater. I think they have the first one playing right now.”

At his, Bruno gave a happy bark, ate the rest of his cake, and nodded towards the door. Peter paid the bill, leaving an extra tip to make up for his sour mood, and took two cakes to go. They ate the cakes during the walk to the old theater, which was nestled in a block of brick-front buildings, between a butcher’s shop with choice cuts hanging in the window and an empty hair salon.

After buying the tickets and some popcorn, Peter and Bruno walked through the massive oak doors to the theater. With its huge spacious seats, a lavishly decorated interior, and the faint musty odor of aging wood infusing the air, the theater wasn’t even half full, but by its usual standards, it was packed. Peter and Bruno took seats nearer to the top, away from the crowd nearer to the screen, and set the bucket of popcorn on the miniature table between their seats.

Though he saw the movie a week ago, in anticipation of the newest release, Peter enjoyed himself. Sinking deeper into his luxurious chair, Peter grabbed a handful of buttery popcorn – real butter, judging from the rich taste – and crammed it all in his mouth. He glanced towards Bruno and saw his muzzle drenched with butter and his eyes fixed on the screen.

However, about halfway through the movie, in his peripheral vision, Peter caught Bruno glancing off to the side every minute. Peter gave him a gentle nudge and was startled to see him flinch.

“Hey, is something wrong?”

Bruno hastily wrote and handed him a butter-smeared paper. “There’s something bad going on.”

“Nearby?”

“No, a couple miles that way.”

Peter consulted his mental map. A couple miles west meant the warehouses and the old industrial park. “How long?”

“About a half hour.”

Peter glanced at his phone. There was an hour left in the movie. With a sigh, he rose from his seat and whispered, “I’ll call it in quick.”

Bruno stood, but Peter gently nudged him back into his seat. “No sense in both of us missing the movie. It’ll only be a minute, alright?”

Peter ducked underneath the stream of light projecting the movie, silently opened the door, and walked outside. He turned down an alley, leaned against a faded gray brick wall, and called his Chief.

“Peter,” the man said over the phone, “You’re calling in on your day off?”

“Yes, sir. Bruno has me worried.” He took a deep breath and explained what happened at the other movie theater and Bruno’s current unease.

“Two miles west?” the Chief asked. “Are you, by any chance, downtown right now? Caldwin Street, maybe?”

Peter glanced at the nearest street sign. “Alice and Baker,” he answered. Peering down a street, he saw Caldwin just a block north. “How did you know?”

“The other Lucario sensed it too,” the Chief said. “I can’t tell you anything now, but you will be briefed on the situation tomorrow.”

Peter sighed with relief. “Thank you for letting me know.”

“You’re welcome. Now, enjoy your day off. That’s an order.”

Peter felt a chill run down his back. “Understood, sir.”

He hung up and forced a smile on his face. The Chief was fond of saying that the act of smiling changed one’s mood. Peter felt his unease slipping away, but just in case, he stopped to get two drinks at the front before returning to the theater. Buoyed by the forced smile and the carbonated beverage, his spirits floated back into contentment as he absorbed himself in the movie. 

Sensing Peter’s ease, Bruno struggled to put the brooding dark cloud to the west out of mind. Tried, and failed. Despite the distance, he felt certain that the violet-haired Pokémon in human clothes was there. But he too forced a smile on his face, and he glanced west no more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Changelog:
> 
> 9/3/18 - minor writing tweaks


	16. Chapter 16

The moment Admin Fisher heard the low, menacing growl of the gatling gun, like a lioness preparing to pounce, Fisher darted through the smoke into a hallway and blindly fired through the opening. The Rockets nearest him followed hot on his heels, while those farther away darted down their own passages. Four Knights lay on the floor in a growing pool of blood. One, grabbing at his left leg, pointed a pistol with his other hand. Fisher put a bullet through his brain. Then the Admin shot the other three corpses in the head.

“How many?” he asked.

“Six here,” the nearest Grunt told him. I think the others made it, but we’re separated.”

Fisher looked sourly back at the smoke-filled hallway. He poked his gun out into the smoke and waved it around. Within two seconds, a stream of bullets rocketed down the corridor.

“Motion sensitive,” he muttered. “Sonar based, since the smoke’s killing optics.” Then he barked over the radio, “Does anyone have a sonar blanket?”

“I brought one,” one Grunt answered, “But it’s only large enough for one.”

“Are you with me?”

“No, I’m alone sir.” His voice quavered slightly. “Chris is dead. I got the bastards with a frag.”

“Alright. See if the blanket works on the gun, then find us. We’re further down on the left. Listen for three taps on the wall. The rest of you, hold your positions. I’ll come get you once I disable the gun.”

Once he gave the order, Fisher periodically rapped groups of three against the metal wall, far enough from the smoke to avoid triggering the sonar. A minute later, a shrouded figure emerged from the smoke. The Grunt, hidden beneath a coarse, lumpy cotton sheet, gave Fisher a salute.

“Give it here,” he said, holding out his hand. The Grunt handed him the sonar blanket. Then Fisher, tightly wrapping the blanket around himself, slipped into the smoke. Restraining the urge to lean on the walls, and in doing so expose himself to view in the side halls, he stumbled blindly in the center. He held his breath, and the farther along he got, the more he felt tempted to risk the clean air of another hallway.

Then, through the cloth, he noticed the smoke was growing thinner. Up ahead, he could make out the silhouette of the gatling gun, a steel behemoth six feet in length, with a rotating barrel a foot wide. On the left, in thick cardboard boxes, were rugged rubber belts crammed with large caliber bullets, and on its right were piles of discarded shells, those on top still smoking from gunpowder discharge.

Four Knights stood guard with their backs turned towards him. Two others tended to the gun, wrenching belt ends from the boxes and oiling the gun’s rotating parts. Though their eyes were bent towards their respective tasks, Fisher strangled the urge to rush forward and instead tiptoed through the last creeping remnants of the smoke. Then, when he was within talking distance of the nearest man, he grabbed a pokéball and lobbed it from underneath his cloak.

An Aggron lumbered forward. It glanced around the hall, scraping its one good horn against the ceiling and blinking at the metal scrapings that floated onto its sky-blue, lustrous eyes. All that remained of its other horn, blown off by a tank shell, was a jagged chip the size of an apple.

At the utterance of a single word, “Smash,” the creature roared and brought one of its arms, thicker than an oak’s trunk, down on the barrel. The barrel squealed as it buckled in half. Gears clicked and hissed as it attempted in vain to spin and fire. One Knight, who was loading a fresh roll of bullets, had his arms crushed into the metal. The other was thrown against a wall by the Aggron’s tail and slumped down, gazing in fear at arms and legs that wouldn’t move.

The four Knights each called out their own Pokémon, which pummeled his Aggron with punches and wads of dirt. A Machamp wound back two of its fists, aiming a pair of punches at the Aggron’s jaws. Fisher took out a thick, unwieldy high-caliber pistol, steadied his arms, and pulled the trigger. The gun kicked like a Mudsdale and roared like a thunderclap. The bullet slammed into the Machamp’s gut, and it fell to the floor. Blood spurted from the wound, spraying the Aggron and the ceiling with a shower of red specks. 

With numb hands, Fisher fumbled another bullet into the pistol and aimed it at a Swampert, but his Aggron dashed its brains out with a clenched metal fist. Instead, he trained his gun on a man pointing his gun at him. The bullet flew wide of his mark, hitting the Knight in the right shoulder, but the high-caliber round blew out the bone, leaving that arm a lifeless lump. The gun slipped from his fingers, and he fell to the floor, trailing a bloody smear on the wall.

Fisher’s right hand, which twitched from the repeated shock, let the pistol fall. Fisher grabbed his assault rifle with his left and fired the weapon in a wide, sloppy arc. His Aggron didn’t notice the bullets glancing off its metal hide, but stray rounds caught a second Knight in the knee, a third in the chest, and a Hariyama in one hand. The burly Pokémon roared in pain and pulled its hand back. Fisher’s Aggron lunged forward and sank its steel razor fangs into the Hariyama’s head, biting down until its skull split open like a melon.

Fisher looked around for the rest of the Knights and the last Pokémon, but they were already dead. He found a Poliwrath impaled on the aggron’s horn, one Knight stomped flat beneath its foot, and a second with his head smashed to pulp.

The Aggron looked around the hall. It took one step forward and fell to the floor, gasping for breath. The metal hide on its chest was cracked in six places, and blood trickled out of them. Its jaw was dented, and its eyes stared blankly at the floor in front of its face.

Fisher called back the Aggron. Then he said into the radio, “Gun’s down. Everyone, to me. Avoid the sides.”

Nine Grunts remained of the thirteen he had entered with. After a quick roll call he soured at a notable absence.

“Damn it,” he muttered, “Fucking rookie got him killed.” Then he raised his gun and pointed down the hall.

“They’ll be expecting us, and they’ll have more fun surprises for us,” he growled. “Stay sharp, stick to cover, and don’t die without taking at least ten Knights with you. Got it?”

“Yes sir!” thundered a chorus of voices over the radio.

“Good. We better move before they have time to reorganize.”

With that, Fisher sprinted down the hallway, and his men followed after. At each turn, Fisher rolled into the open space, gun trained at the unknown territory until he came up on his feet. Though he moved quickly, he kept track of every camera he saw, disarmed trip wires and claymores laid in the path, and memorized every spot of cover for a retreat. Halfway through the building, he posted two Grunts to watch the rear, and he had the rest call out their Pokémon.

“It won’t be long now,” he said. “Stay sharp.”

With a Golem in the vanguard, Fisher and the seven Grunts advanced cautiously, investigating the three diverging hallways they found and disabling all electronics they saw.

Then they found the firing ground. Their hallway, along with two dozen others, led into a bare, open room. Fisher stopped the group well short of the room and ordered them on high alert.

“Cobalt, you have the scout?” he whispered.

In answer, the Grunt called out a Kecleon. The Grunt also took out jars of grey paint, held them up against the metal wall, and picked one that closely resembled the steel. She slathered thick dollops of the paint over the lizard’s bright red stripe, leaving a vague gray splotch in its place. Then she stuck a tiny camera onto its forehead and told it to sneak out into the open.

The Kecleon vanished into the floor and silently padded into the room. The Grunt turned on a monitor, which displayed the video feed from the Kecleon’s camera. As its head swiveled to survey the room, Fisher saw the second story. 

On a balcony that surrounded the outer wall, thick metal barriers offered cover for the gunmen and Pokémon perched above the halls. A string of lasers hanging underneath were pointed at each opening, triggers for alarms or traps. Four Weezing patrolled the upper walls, each accompanied by a mask-wearing Knight and a Zangoose. One Zangoose scowled at the spot where the Kecleon stood, and the camera trembled beneath the gaze.

With a light shock from the camera, the Grunt signaled the Kecleon to return. The lizard stealthily crept back into the hall, darting between the lasers that sealed the entrance.

All told, there were fifty Knights, twice as many Pokémon, and unseen reinforcements waiting to pounce, against a fifth of that number.

Admin Fisher took a deep breath and reviewed the footage of the room. Then he asked around for a Crobat or a Gengar. Two Crobat were offered up, and Fisher took them both. With orders from him, the two bats darted out into the room, darted up to the second floor, and emitted a low, nausea-inducing rumble from their cavernous mouths.

The four weezing, addled by the resonant sound frequencies, went on a rampage, spewing gas everywhere and tackling anything they saw. Then, one by one, they detonated with the force of a TNT brick. The balcony, shaken by the four explosions, creaked and buckled. The screws, bolts, and welding holding it to the upper floor cracked one by one. The balcony lurched, tottered, and fell to the lower floor with a tumultuous crash.

Only one Crobat made it back through the chaos. The other, pinned beneath the wreckage, screamed and fluttered its one good wing. Most of the Knights’ Pokémon were trapped as well, strangled by the toxins in the air, but many Knights leapt off the balcony and landed in the center of the room. Protected by their masks, they took advantage of the gas flooding the room to seek cover, while the Rockets stormed past the lasers, picked their own cover, and shot at any Knights disoriented by the explosions. 

Thirty Knights and one Grunt fell within the first frantic minute of the fight. Anguished cries rose from a pile of corpses in the center of the room, and maimed bodies struggled towards safety, leaving trails of blood behind them. Their open wounds, taking in the airborne toxins, turned a nauseating shade of green and oozed thick, gray drops of flesh.

Fisher swore at the toxic cloud pervading the room. Then, relaying orders to his men, he had his firing line widened and any Pokémon that could withstand the poison released. The five Pokémon charged. Two were gunned down, but the other three vaulted over the cover and laid into the Knights. Following the opening, Fisher and his Grunts flanked the Knights, shooting them as they struggled against the Pokémon.

After another minute, the room fell silent. A Toxicroak and a Grunt lay dead in exchange for the remaining twenty Knights. The poison, making swift work of the wounded, settled over the battlefield. The corpses rotted with alacrity, gray fleshy porridge dripping from charred black bones. Fisher stepped back from the reeking mess to examine the rest of his team, fiveGrunts gasping for breath and looking anxiously at the corpses of their comrades.

Fisher noticed one hallway unlike the rest, much wider and unguarded, leading into the heart of the building. He pointed towards it and told his remaining companions, “Let’s go. We still have work to do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Changelog:
> 
> 9/4/18 - minor edits. Note: I'm kinda getting tired of coming up with twenty different ways of saying "I only tweaked it a little", so I'll be sticking with 'minor edits' if I don't do any major scene/continuity changes, m'kay?


	17. Chapter 17

The halls echoed back Seven’s ragged breathing, as if she were walking through the lungs of a wounded animal. The blood she left in her wake, once a sopping trail of foot-shaped puddles, dwindled down to an occasional drop as the wound in her arm closed up again. Pain lanced up her shoulder with each step. Every time she heard a noise, she sprinted for the nearest shadow, sending a fresh spurt of blood down her fur.

However, no one came for her.

Her vision blurred, and she teetered side to side, leaning against the walls and falling to her knees. Each time she fell, she dug her claws into the floor and heaved herself up, leaving gouges in the steel plates beneath her.

Through the fuzziness of the hallway, one image crisply resolved itself before her: a bathroom sign, a black square with a white human shape. Her eyes widened, and she sped towards it, spattering a fresh stream of blood through the gauze. She shoved the door, wrenched open the nearest stall, and slammed the bolt shut. 

Then she sat on the toilet seat, nearly falling in because the seat was lifted up. She left it up, perching herself on the front of the toilet and taking thin, shallow, rapid breaths. Blood dripped into the bowl, coloring the water with dancing red plumes.

Half an hour later, when she finally caught her breath, she took the sodden red gauze off her arm. The clotted bandages stuck to her arm, tearing open the wound as they were pulled away, but only the tiniest trickle of blood seeped from the wound.

Seven looked around for a replacement and saw the roll of toilet paper. It was thin, flimsy, cheap paper, so delicate she could see her nails through it, but with the whole roll wrapped around her arm, it held without tearing.

She twisted the paper into a tight knot and rose, leaning against the toilet with her good arm, but her hand fell on the flush lever. Her hand slipped as the toilet flushed, and she stumbled towards the swirling water. With her left hand, she dug into the plastic wall and held herself up, howling in pain as the strain on the bullet wound sent daggers up her shoulder. 

She stared down at the bloody water as it vanished down the drain. Feeling her cracked, parched lips, and licking the roof of her mouth with her sticky tongue, she nearly let herself fall into the fresh, clean water gurgling below her, filling the bowl, but instead, she struggled to her feet and kicked open the stall. The bolt popped free and clattered to the floor.

Seven’s feet shook as she took slow, careful steps over to the sink. Leaning over the plastic counter, she wrenched the nearest faucet as far as it would go and buried her mouth in the rush of water. Cold at first, it quickly warmed to scalding temperature. Seven yanked her head back and switched the faucets. This time, she checked before drinking.

When she was done, she pulled her head back, and her eyes met her reflection in the giant, grimy mirror. Her yellow eyes, dulled to gray in the reflection, gave her a dead stare. Blood soaked into the fur around her mouth gave her a grotesque grin. The man’s blood. Lou’s blood.

With a howl, she jabbed at the reflection with her knife. The blade cracked the glass and slid off the hard metal wall underneath, twisting her hand aside. Her hand flew into the mirror, shattering it. Splinters of glass dug into her fingers. Then her fist slammed into the wall, ramming the glass deeper. The knife fell from her senseless fingers, and Seven stumbled back, falling to the floor.

She tore a toilet paper holder off of a wall with both her hands, ignoring the pain shooting up both arms, and stuck the flimsy plastic in her teeth. Then she wrenched the glass, piece by jagged piece, out of her right hand. Each shard came out with a spurt of blood and a stifled scream. When she could flex her right hand, she jammed the knife between her fingers and wound another roll of toilet paper around it. The paper turned red, but the makeshift bandage held her knife in place.

Once that was done, Seven stood and turned towards the shattered remains of the mirror. Her reflected face was fractured, the morbid blood smile gone.

“I’m going to be better than that,” she whispered at the mirror. “Never again. I’ll be human. I swear it.”

She walked out of the bathroom, but her left hand froze on the cold, shiny metal on the door. She returned to the stall, flinging the door closed behind her, but the door bounced back open. The shattered remnants of her reflection stared at her as she sat down and stared at the floor.

“What am I going to do?” she asked herself. “Before, I didn’t have any choices. But now, now I’m free.”

She thought back to the attempted escape with Seamus. She saw his brains spattered across the plastic tarp on Giovanni’s floor.

“He can’t reach me here,” she told herself. “What’s stopping me from switching sides? I’m sure they would welcome me.”

She thought back to the Mightyena, sniffing around the body, and the Knights’ disgust for the devoured corpse. There would be no welcome for someone like her, not with them, she told herself.

She stared down at the knife. Her reflection rippled and blurred in the folded steel. Could she keep doing this? Keep killing, keep taking wounds, keep hiding herself? Fight for her humanity, or give up and run?

Her fingers tightened around the hilt of the knife. She stood, this time leaning against the wall, and walked to the door. She nudged it open, peered around the empty hallway, and walked out.

For a moment, she couldn’t remember which way she came from, but the sticky red footprints and a long, thin scratch on one wall sent her in the other direction. She abandoned the guise of a Knight in favor of Steven’s bland face, and left her blood-stained black uniform exposed. 

An hour passed as Seven meandered through narrow, sprawling hallways, peeked into empty, hollow rooms, and searched for any sign of her fellow Rockets. She thought she heard a distant explosion, but when she walked towards it, she got turned around and lost track of its direction.

She despaired of ever finding her way out until, by chance, her hand brushed against the pokéball in her pocket. She wasn’t sure what good a Magneton would do, but she called it out anyways. Somehow, she recognized the floating magnetic Pokémon, the same one that zapped the Tyranitar and Goliath, the same one that once belonged to Seamus.

The Magneton’s eyes darted around the hallways and locked on her. Its blank stare bored holes into her chest as it waited for an order.

“Help me get out of here,” she told it.

The Magneton blinked at her, then it turned away and floated down the hall. Seven followed after it, but it moved too quickly for her to keep up. When it vanished down a corner, she called after it. The Magneton came back, glanced at the wound on her arm, and floated over to her right, at shoulder height. She threw her arm over it and hobbled along, guided by the Magneton’s gentle nudges.

Eventually, she heard the sound of voices, echoing from a room up ahead. Footsteps rang against the floor. She stopped short and thought about what to do. She couldn’t risk walking out with any disguise, but she had to know who was back there. The adjacent room, though empty, didn’t have any vents or windows. She turned invisible, snuck past the doorway, poked an ear into the room and listened to the people beyond. Dozens of footsteps, both human and not, thudded across the vast room beyond.

“All the research equipment is loaded, sir!” one Knight said.

“Good,” a smooth, deep voice answered. “Have the other captains evacuate and rendezvous at the main base, and get the other supplies out if you can” The man gave a slow, steady sigh and said, “I can’t believe they pushed through the gun and blew up the ambush point.”

Seven locked onto that melodious voice. It was the voice of a commander, giving orders to captains and making the plans. His death meant prestige and protection within the ranks of Rockets.

Seven walked blind into that room, guided only by the sounds of footsteps and voices around her. She had to scamper out of the way of sprinting soldiers, and she brushed against solid, hollow shapes. The scalpels glittered in the corners of her eyes, glinting in unseen light each time she turned her head. She clasped her left hand over her mouth and held the knife close to her chest as she followed the sonorous voice to the center of the tumult.

For a minute, the voice fell silent. She hunted for the commander’s footsteps, but they were drowned out by the soldiers around him. The air hung heavy with the scent of sweat. Her hands trembled, and her skin turned to ice as the scalpels descended. One glittering blade darted in, gouging a long, clean slice at the center of her chest. A pair of tweezers slithered inside the wound and plucked at her liver, holding one corner out while a scalpel sliced it away. Seven wrenched her hand away from her mouth to cover the wound, but her skin remained unbroken.

Her head spun, and her knees shook. She fell to one knee, blinking her blind eyes and breathing in shallow gasps. Syringes dug into her back and pumped tingling liquids into her veins. Vomit crept up her throat, tasting of blood.

Seven almost ran, but then the commander said something. She was too delirious to make out the word, but the voice was there, just a few feet in front of her. The voice lifted her to her knees. Bracing her knife, she made one tottering step forward, then another. The commander asked, “Do you hear something?” Guided by that voice, Seven held the knife against her heart and plunged it forward.

The knife sank in cleanly, without the jarring impact of steel on bone or the firmness of flesh. Seven made herself visible. The knife stuck out of the commander’s left shoulder, and when the man backed away, a thin trail of pink mass clung to the knife tip. Blood gushed out of the wound, bright and thin like food coloring.

He was unusually short man with a matted tangle of gray hair, a long, slender nose, and fiery brown eyes. When he shouted, every man in the room turned towards Seven, guns raised. 

“Flash!” Seven shouted.

She vanished as the Magneton flew through the door and filled the room with searing white light. Leaning against the metal Pokémon, Seven staggered out of the room. She made herself and her Magneton invisible.

A dozen soldiers rushed out, fanning across the hallway. Their elbows missed Seven’s chest by an inch. She stepped out to ambush them, but the commander’s voice boomed out the room.

“Halt!” he shouted. “We better leave before the main group gets here.”

“But sir,” one soldier protested, “What about the cargo?”

“The Rockets are welcome to it. You’re more important than that junk. Now let’s go!”

The soldiers ran back as quickly as they came. Within a minute, the sounds of their footsteps died away, but Seven waited ten minutes longer before she dared step inside.

The room was a loading dock for the warehouse. Five train cars were lined up in rows to one side, and smaller metal cubes were scattered across the concrete floor like children’s toys. In a clearing near the center of the room, she found the spot where she stabbed the commander. Droplets of blood led away to a garage door on the far side of the room.

A ring of metal chairs sat in one corner of the room, right below a rickety metal stairway to a second floor room. She checked the room above. It was a break room, much like the one by Lou’s corpse. She helped herself to a few gnarled, chewy strips of beef jerky and a glass of water. Then she stumbled downstairs took a seat on a metal chair. 

She leaned back and stared up at the rusty ceiling. The Magneton floated over her head, staring down at her with its three blank eyes.

“Find the other Rockets,” she told it, “and bring them here.”

The Magneton flew off, leaving Seven alone to figure out how she would return to base with a bullet wound through her arm. Maybe she should run for it. If they found her like this, who knows what they would do. They’d put her in a cage, just like a Pokémon, and it would be Harmonia Labs all over again. She strained, trying to stand, reaching for the distant door, but she couldn’t move. Tears welled in her eyes as she waited to be found.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Changelog:
> 
> 10/9/17 - Details were changed to enhance continuity in later chapters, mainly what happens when Seven stabs the commander.  
> 9/3/18 - Wow, has it been that long already? Uh, I mean - minor edits. Also, a few more continuity tweaks, such as changing the name 'Atheros' to 'Harmonia' in honor of Ghetsis.


	18. Chapter 18

Chapter Eighteen

The scratches on Seven’s right hand closed up, sending dull throbs of pain every time she twitched her fingers, but the bullet wound through her left arm refused to heal. The toilet paper wound around her arm fell off in crusty red flakes, and the seeping wound, exposed to the air, burned as drops of blood trickled through her fur. A small, spattered red spot grew on the floor next to her chair. She tried to get up again, but her legs had fallen asleep. Exhaustion settled over her shoulders like a lead coat, hunching her over in the chair. Every muscle ached down to her bones, each breath tasted of bile, and each beat of her heart felt as though her ribs were splitting apart.

Whether five minutes or five hours passed before the Magneton flew back into the room, she could not say. Seven only saw it when it flew up to her face and nudged her into an upright position with one of its magnets. The chair twisted beneath her as it was tugged towards the magnetic Pokémon.

Footsteps rumbled in her ears. Gritting her teeth, Seven forced an illusion in place. The image wavered. She took sharp, shallow breaths, forcing oxygen into her brain, until at last, the image of humanity resolved over her.

The Grunts, led by Fisher, entered the room with their guns raised. First, they scoured the warehouse, cracking open the crates and spilling the contents onto the floor. Pokéballs tumbled out of one crate, two held semi-automatic rifles, and another contained bricks of C4 packed in bubble wrap.

The Grunts entered the break room, garage, and two offices in pairs. Only when each pair called out did Fisher walk in and ordered the guns down. He walked over to Seven with one hand on his pistol and flung the helmet off his face. His blonde hair hung in sweaty, limp curls, and his scar shone in the flickering fluorescent light.

“I lost eight men today,” Fisher said, leaning over her. “I thought for sure it would be nine. How the fuck did you survive?”

Seven forced herself to stare into his eyes. They were two still ponds, but unfocused, as if he wasn’t seeing her in the chair.

“I stole a uniform off a guard. Hid the body in a vent.”

“Did anyone notice the bullet holes?”

Seven held up her knife. The metal, once a gleaming gray, was sticky and brown from dried blood, with a pink smudge at the tip. The blade was stuck out from all the blood that seeped into the hilt.

Admin Fisher pried the knife from her numb fingers and held it up in the light. “Not bad,” he said. “How many did you kill?”

Seven tried to remember, but her head spun. “I don’t know. Five, at least. No, eight.”

The Admin nodded, but his lips didn’t twitch. “Good.”

Seven swallowed and added, “I also stabbed this short guy. Got him in the shoulder, but I think he’ll live.”

Admin Fisher kept nodding, and then he stopped. “Wait, a short guy?” There was fire in his voice as he gripped her shoulders. “What color was his hair?”

Seven tried to speak, but she was interrupted by a fit of coughing. When she looked at her hand, she was afraid at first that she coughed up blood, but looking closer, she saw it was only the cuts opening up again.

“Gray,” she finally managed to say. “It was gray.”

“Where? Here?”

Seven pointed at the pool of blood on the floor. In the few minutes it sat on the floor, it had already congealed into a cracked brown smear.

Admin Fisher followed a trail of red drops to the garage and cursed. Then he came back and kicked at the pile of C4, flinging a white lump across the room.

“Get a detonator set up. I don’t want a scrap of this place left after we leave, got it? The rest of you, take everything we can carry, starting with the Pokémon.”

A Grunt sorted through the explosives while the others called out their Pokémon. Fisher’s Aggron, still battered from its last battle, hefted a whole crate over its shoulders. Pokéballs clattered to the floor with each ponderous footstep. A Vigoroth followed behind and stuffed each dropped ball into a garbage bag. A Crobat flew out with a bulging bag clutched in its legs, a Kecleon carried two armfuls of rifles, and four Machoke each took a corner of a train car. The corrugated metal groaned as they carted it out a garage door.

Fisher looked around the warehouse and gave approving nods at the loads everyone took. Then he saw Seven, still seated in the chair.

“What the hell are you sitting around for? Help us move this shit or we’re leaving you here with the C4.”

The hair on the back of Seven’s neck stood, but the rest of her body refused to rise. Though she strained until her right arm shook and pushed with all her might with her legs, she couldn’t move an inch.

“Too tired. I just… need a minute.”

“Don’t give me any of that crap.” Fisher grabbed her left arm, just below the bullet wound. Seven hissed and yanked away, nearly falling off the chair. Fisher’s hand came away sticky with blood. He rubbed it between his fingers, tested its stickiness, and moved to her right side.

“Come on,” he said, raising her right arm over his shoulder, “Let’s get you on a table.”

Seven’s head swam as Fisher lifted her out of the chair. The warehouse spun in pale gray swirls flecked with red and green spots, and darkness crept around the edges of her vision. She felt her hold on her power slipping, and with all her might, she tightened her grip around the slippery, glass-like sensation brooding in her head.

Halfway to one of the offices, she felt the knife in her hand work free of the toilet paper wrappings. Each step jarred her numb fingers apart, and inch by inch, the knife wriggled free, clinging to her hand only by a few blood-smeared strands of hair. She reached for it, but trying to move even her fingers made her grasp on her illusion more tenuous.

Forced to choose between the knife or her disguise, for one moment she almost let the illusion slip, but she realized she didn’t even have the strength to raise her arm, let alone kill the Admin. The knife clattered to the floor. The blade dully chimed as it struck the concrete. Fisher glanced back but didn’t stop.

Fisher kicked the office door open and, with one leg, swept the computer, keyboard, and piles of papers off of a desk. Then he swept Seven’s legs out from beneath her and gently set her down. The flat plastic surface felt ice cold against her back.

He unwrapped a roll of gauze and peered closely at her arm. “Where’s the wound?”

Before Seven could answer or try to alter her illusion, which hid the bleeding hole, Fisher’s fingers probed her arm, following the trail of slick blood until his finger brushed the wound. Seven yelped and wrenched her arm away, but the pain that crackled up her arm like static broke her concentration. Her illusion shattered, exposing her matted, bloody fur. Fisher flinched back and reached for his pistol. Seven tried to roll behind the desk, but her body refused to budge. No matter how much she struggled, a tangle of unseen chains pinned her to the desk.

Seven’s eyes burned. She struggled to keep herself from crying, but even that was beyond her strength. Tears welled up in her eyes, blurring Fisher into an ominous gray ghost looming over her, and then the tears trickled down her cheeks, stained faint red by the blood caked around her mouth. Then the light faded, and Seven fell into a dark, dreamless sleep.

*******

When Seven woke again, the harsh blue light overhead blinded her. Tears came to her eyes again, and as they ran down her cheeks, she remembered. She blinked furiously until her eyes adjusted. A bright white ceiling dotted with lights loomed high above her. Vents in the corners clattered as they pumped cool air into the room. The far wall was bare, the one on the right had a thick metal door, and on the left, computer monitors plastered every surface like glowing wallpaper. Images and numbers flashed in a dizzying flood of information, but she saw a photo of the wound, stitched up and surrounded by black fur.

Seven tried to stand. At first, she thought leather straps held her down on the bed, but when she turned her head, nothing visibly held her down. Then she looked up again and recognized the same blue glow that pinned her inches from freedom at Harmonia Labs.

It’s all over, she thought. She closed her eyes and leaned her head back into the pillow. Though it felt soft and warm, she would’ve traded it for a slab of concrete anywhere else in the world.

The door slid aside, and Admin Celeste entered. Her blonde hair was tucked underneath a hairnet, and goggles shielded her blue eyes. Instead of her jacket, she wore pale blue scrubs, and her latex gloves groaned every time she moved her fingers.

“You’re awake,” she said.

“Yes, Admin Celeste,” Seven said reflexively. She gritted her teeth and tried not to think of Ghetsis.

Celeste tapped one of the monitors on the wall. Seconds later, the blue light turned off. Seven didn’t feel any different, but the paralysis was gone. She sat up and looked at her arms. Her right hand had a tangle of stitches for all the cuts, and the left arm had an angry red scar in the middle of a bare square patch. The skin underneath looked pale, like grubworms, against the black of her fur.

“Can you stand?”

Seven swung her legs off the bed and tested her weight on them. They felt stiff, but not shaky.

“How does your arm feel?”

Seven gingerly reached for the scar, tracing her finger over its ridged scab and blood-soaked stitches.

“I don’t feel any pain.”

“Good. I was worried the anesthetics wouldn’t work.” Celeste adjusted her glasses and turned towards the screens. “I used to do this stuff more often, before I became Admin.” She smiled without looking at Seven. “Well, on humans, anyways. I suppose I missed it. Working on you was a fun challenge.”

Seven glanced around the room. On a metal tray standing next to her bed, there was a roll of gauze, a pan of ethanol, three tiny slivers of glass, a pliers, and a scalpel. Seven reached for the scalpel and stopped. Celeste was watching her out of the corner of her eye.

After Seven took her hand away, Celeste turned around and said, “Good, you’re not stupid.” She picked up the scalpel and pressed the blade against her thumb. The metal bent backwards, forming a lopsided disc along the contour of her thumb. “Giovanni will speak with you now. Make yourself presentable.”

Celeste took a plastic bin out from underneath the bed. A new Grunt’s uniform, tailored to her shape, was neatly folded inside. Seven put the clothes on, taking extra care to make sure the shirt didn’t snag on her stitches, and hid her face behind the illusion of Steven Sun.

Celeste gave a quick nod. “Good. Let’s go.”

Fisher was standing next to the door, outside the room. He regarded her with a blank stare, and his scar seemed like a second frown on his face.

“Good, you’re up. You were out cold for five days.”

Fisher led the way, and Celeste took the rear. Seven plodded in between them, facing forward and staring at nothing, too absorbed in her growing dread to take in her surroundings. To Seven, it felt like they walked for hours, but as they passed the four doors of the Admins and approached Giovanni’s room, she wished it had lasted even longer. Though her illusion seemed calm and impassive, she trembled underneath.

Then, with a single meaty knock from Fisher’s fist, the door swung open. Seven took a deep breath, bowed her head, and walked inside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Changelog:
> 
> 9/3/18 -minor edits


	19. Chapter 19

Bruno waited until the flickering blue light of Peter’s soul dimmed, like a hot coal taken out of the fire. Then he gently wriggled out of the sheets, unlocked the bathroom window, and slipped out onto the roof. His padded paws made no sound as he sprinted across the rough black shingles. Then he leapt down onto a brick wall, sprinted across its length, swung on a tree branch, and dropped to the ground.

Bruno darted through the shadows, down musty, cracked alleys strewn with filthy papers and broken glass, until he arrived at a battered, rotting wooden door at the far end of a cramped, narrow alley. Bricks were popping loose from the surrounding masonry, and the mortar crumbled at the slightest touch. A fine mist of wooden splinters coated Bruno’s fur as he rapped twice, paused, and rapped twice again.

A delphox opened the door and gestured for Bruno to enter. The white stone floor was cracked into coarse gravel, and nothing remained of the tables but a cracked, dusty sheet of varnish and heaps of moldy wood. Only the circular bar and its ring of stools remained untouched by time, both being made of stainless steel. Though its surfaces were dulled by grime, they remained untouched by rust. The shelves behind the bar, also made of the same resilient metal, held glass bottles so caked with dust and cobwebs that their labels were completely hidden.

In six chairs, five pokemon faced the bar. One was a tall, lean alakazam with a neatly trimmed mustache, ornate carved silver spoons, and a thick leather-bound book floating an inch from his nose. A gardevoir sat next to him, her flowing white robes tossed to one side as she kicked her feet up on the bar. She smiled and waved her unruly green hair out of her eyes when she saw Bruno enter.

Taking up a pair of chairs, a metang ate a metal girder. Iron filings drifted to the floor as its hulking white teeth shredded the girder like a monstrous blender. Its metal body shone from a recent waxing, and a USB port jutted from the back of its head. The metang always complained it itched, but it could never reach it with its stocky metal limbs.

The last pair, sitting opposite the metang, were a mienshao and a hypno. The former wore a clean, pressed white kimono tailored to its shape, and the latter wore a dusty black cape with a faded star, its yellow dye turned gray by age, adorning the center. The hypno carried a pendulum made of platinum, cracked down one side, while the mienshao held a slender paper fan, fully extended and colored with cherry blossoms. The mienshao’s beady black eyes darted across the room, while the hypno’s dead gray eyes, ringed by blotchy patches of white scars, fixed their lifeless gaze far beyond the walls of the ruined tavern.

Bruno and the delphox, Aurum, took the last two seats. The alakazam lifted a spoon, and seven glass shots floated out from under the bar, each meticulously clean and brimming with a clear, green liquid.

The mienshao eyed his cup in distaste. The top was so wide in his tiny hands he couldn’t wrap his fingers around it.

“Why can’t I get a smaller cup?” the mienshao complained. “I can’t go home drunk like last time.”

“This batch is weaker,” Preston the alakazam explained. “Never fear, I haven’t forgotten about you.”

The gardevoir sniffed at the liquid and scrunched up her nose. “Too weak. Might as well drink water.”

Bruno took a sniff and found himself agreeing with Jacqueline, the gardevoir. He could barely smell the alcohol in the fermented berry juice.

“You’re welcome to the stronger stuff after the meeting,” Joseph the alakazam said. “Just put up with it for Sakura’s sake.”

B9-42, the metang commonly called Benign, gripped his glass between three pincers, so huge relative to the glass that the slightest twitch of them would grind the shot into dust.

Everyone held up their glasses towards the center, silently toasting before draining their glasses. Benign threw the entire glass down his gaping maw, shredding up the glass with the juice and eating it all. Jacqueline held her head up high and poured the liquor down her throat while Sakura daintily sipped at the top. Houdini, the old blind hypno, groped across the bar until his fingers brushed against the glass, then he drank with exaggerated care and set the glass back down with both hands. Aurum swallowed and let out a small puff of flame, Preston made the cup float to his lips, and Bruno let the liquor dance across his tongue before letting it down his throat. 

While this batch lacked the sweet burn of stronger brews, it made up for it with a delicate interplay of sweet and spice. Hints of lemon and orange tickled his tongue before a powerful rush of cinnamon crested on the back of his tongue and rushed down to his gut like a fragrant, steaming tsunami. The aftertaste of vanilla, creeping in after the cinnamon, prepared the palate for the next mouthful. 

After the toast, the seven pokemon spoke of their lives. Sakura complained yet again about how all the humans thought he was a girl in that kimono, and how the steam kept making his hairs split and curl, and that the kimono sleeves kept catching on doorways, and assuredly many more complaints had Preston not cut him off.

Houdini went next. His life was a wheel stuck off the ground, trying to move forward but always winding back the way it came. Long gone were the days of its magic tricks and performances, and instead, it specialized in trauma therapy, using its hypnotism to force people to forget accidents and losses before they became long-term memories. His tale leapt between past and present in a confused jumble. No hypnotism could make the old hypno forget the panicked rapidash whose kick missed his skull by an inch, instead scorching his eyes, and he made sure no one else ever forgot it either.

Once Houdini had a proper amount of time, Preston asked him to let Jacqueline speak. The hypno nodded, and Jacqueline, without waiting for permission, launched directly into her account. She never talked much about her life, just saying that the week “was quiet” or “was a bumpy ride” depending on her mood, and adding a few anecdotal details, such as “a lot of fat ones this week,” or “they were so young.” Bruno, once concerned by these vague details, spoke with her alone and told her about the laws regarding prostitution and what the police could do for her. Jacqueline had laughed it off and told him that she worked in a hotel, but Bruno wasn’t convinced until he had followed her back one night. Afterwards, Bruno had the uncomfortable feeling that she wanted to give off that impression. Her soul was like an electric fire, giving off light but never any warmth, and he could never tell what she was thinking.

Preston was quite the opposite. His soul burned so faintly that Bruno had to squint to see the flecks of gold smoldering inside of him, but the warmth radiating from his skin felt like a second sun. He spoke at length about the courses he taught at the university during the past month, about the new students cluttering his halls, some gawking or taking pictures, some averting their eyes each time he looked at them, and some eagerly drinking every word he projected through the air. He was rather displeased that he had spent the last two weeks teaching introductory biology for a teacher out on vacation, but the promise of an advanced physics class made his mustache curl up with his smile.

Once he had hit his precise lecture limit, he passed the conversation over to Benign. The metal behemoth had quite a lot to say about the current market trends of popular pharmaceutical brands, the short-selling of a company’s stock whose most profitable patent had expired, and the diversification of a biomedical portfolio with stocks from the cosmetics industry. The stream of numbers, names, and statistical trends slid in and out of Bruno’s ears like an eel, too slippery to hold.

Aurum went next. His life was one training exercise after another, punctuated by battling tournaments. He had spent the whole month dodging rubber balls, torching straw figures, and lifting rocks with his mind, and a huge international tournament lurked around the corner of the next week.

Bruno spoke last, giving brief accounts of the transfer to the new department, the arrests he made, and the trip to the movie theater. He had just about run out of time when he remembered the dark-haired pokemon in human clothes.

“Preston, I beg your pardon, but could I have a bit more time? I have something important to share.”

Preston fingered his mustache. “Well, let’s hear the start of it at least, and we’ll decide from there.”

Bruno hastily told them about how he saw the pokemon wearing human clothes he saw in an alleyway, and how the other humans didn’t seem to notice her unusual appearance. When he told them how he could feel her soul across the city, Preston’s brow furrowed.

“So, do you think she would be a suitable member of our circle?”

“I think so. But I think she’s in trouble. Something bad happened to her today, I could feel her pain.” Bruno slammed a hand down on the bar, leaving a small dent. “We should help her!”

Preston sighed and twirled a spoon in his hand. “You’re not thinking straight.” Bruno silently stared at him as he considered his words. “You are of that age, you know, when girls do funny things to your head.”

“But it’s not–”

“Enough.” The alakazam spoke softly, but with such authority that Bruno’s mouth slammed shut. “As I said, you’re not thinking straight. We can barely make time for these meetings. How do you expect us to find this individual, discover their situation, and help them out of whatever mess they’re in? This, of course, is assuming that everything you’ve supposed is true. It could’ve been a human in costume, or–”

“There’s no way she was a human.”

“Or a pokemon lacking the mental faculties we were blessed with, or beyond our help, or any number of reasons we shouldn’t go poking our noses into business that does not concern us.”

“But–”

Preston leaned back and examined his reflection in a spoon. “Please take my advice. Do everything in your power to put her completely out of your mind. Only when you can do so, can you make objective, rational decisions. Acting on emotion will only get you in trouble. Understood?”

Bruno gritted his teeth and bowed his head. “I understand.”

Jacqueline brushed her hair aside. “Nice going, lover boy. You used up all our time. Now, I better run along before I’m missed.”

With that, she vanished. Preston teleported away after her, as did Houdini. Benign shot out the door like a bullet, smashing wooden splinters across the alley until they stopped in midair and reformed the broken door. Sakura leapt out a window, cursing as the corner of his kimono caught on the windowsill. Aurum gently opened the door, burning away the splinters that floated onto his fur, and Bruno followed after the delphox, closing the door behind him. The two pokemon walked together through the alleys.

“Don’t take it too hard, man,” he said. “I saw this beautiful ninetales, once, in one of the tournaments, and I haven’t seen her since. You’ll get over it.”

The story soured Bruno’s mood. With a curt goodbye, Bruno leapt onto a rooftop, sprinted back home, and closed the window behind him as he slid back into bed. He tried searching for that radiant sunset, but it had been snuffed out like a candle. His sleep that night was dark and troubled, and as he shivered in bed, he worried that Preston was right.


	20. Chapter 20

As Seven walked into Giovanni’s office, the short, black-haired man who found her and Seamus during the escape attempt was already seated at Giovanni’s right. Celeste stepped past and sat to Giovanni’s left, while Fisher slipped in between two ferns and leaned next to the waterfall.

Seven took the chair opposite Giovanni and sank into it. Her eyes were fixed on the ground between her feet, where the blood of Seamus Colson once pooled on top of a plastic tarp.

Giovanni reached into a bowl of pears, picked the largest one, and sliced it into eighths with a knife. He took one and passed the rest to Seven.

“There’s no need for illusions here, Subject Seven.” His green eyes regarded her coldly as he bit into the pear. A trickle of juice wound its way down his cheek, and he dabbed it away with a handkerchief. “You should have some. They’re quite tasty.”

As ordered, Seven removed the illusion and bit into a pear slice. The flavor on her tongue reminded her of her hunger, and she wolfed down the pear before she could stop herself.

Once she was done, Giovanni held out a handkerchief – not his own, but one from a large stack in a desk drawer. Seven gratefully took it and scoured every trace of juice from her muzzle.

 

Giovanni leaned back in her chair and twirled a pear in his left hand, examining the shining green skin with an expression of boredom. “First off, I want you to know I’ve been aware of your identity from the moment you put on your uniform.”

Seven shivered and glanced away from Giovanni’s cold green eyes. “How?”

“There were some holes in Fisher’s story. How did an employee lock themselves in a cell with the control panel in another room? Why would they leave such an important test subject in a room with a hole in it, and unlocked as well?” Giovanni slid his knife into the pair, slicing into it but not through it. “I was also aware of all your tricks – something I neglected to share with my Admins.”

Fisher bristled as Giovanni glanced at him. Then the mafia boss went back to cutting the pear, slicing so far through it that the fruit only held together with the barest bit of peel.

“Then… why?” Seven felt tears forming in the corners of her eyes, but she feigned a cough and wiped them away.

“I was curious.” Giovanni spoke those three words with so little emotion his face might as well have been carved from ice. “I wanted to know more about you before I did anything.”

Seven shrank back in her chair and asked, “Does anyone else know?”

“No. Even Fisher and Celeste didn’t know until… the incident.” Giovanni sliced further, cutting away half the peel so the pear slices flapped loosely like a pair of wings. Fisher glowered at Seven, and Celeste shifted her gaze towards the wall of ferns. Colson’s arms blinked with a flurry of lights as he hastily typed on his sleeve, and his attention was fixed on a tiny screen in the hood of his uniform.

Seven glanced at the pear in Giovanni’s hand and felt her stomach rumble. “So, what are you going to do to me?”

Giovanni looked up from his pear and set the knife on the table. “What do you want me to do with you?”

“W-what?” Seven lowered her head and stared at the carpet. “What… do I want?”

“Yes. Tell me what you want. That’s an order.”

Seven cringed. Then she tightened her grip on the chair, looked into Giovanni’s eyes, and said, “I want to be human.”

Giovanni blinked. “Human? Well, there’s quite a bit of philosophy we could discuss on the subject.” He broke the pear apart with his hands, delicately, keeping his fingertips away from the juicy, exposed flesh. “For example, no two humans are treated equally. Beggars on the street get ignored, shunned, and loathed, while billionaires have people fawning over their every whim if they throw their money around enough. And me,” Giovanni dryly chuckled into his hand. “I get treated better than anyone else on the planet. Anything I want, I give the order, and it’s mine, no questions asked.” 

Giovanni pushed his chair closer and leaned over his desk. Seven felt the urge to back away from his chiseled, stony face, but she forced herself to hold his daunting green gaze. His very presence felt like a hot, humid day, weighing down her fur and making her breath come in ragged gasps.

“Let me ask you again. What do you want?”

“W-well I… I want…”

Giovanni leaned back in his chair, and like that, the pressure of his presence vanished. “Maybe I can help. You want respect. Power. Freedom. Does that sound right?”

Seven kept her voice small as she said, “Uh, yeah. Freedom.”

“Could you say that louder, please?” Giovanni’s face kept its same stony composure. “I don’t think I heard you.”

Seven stiffened up and took a deep breath. “Yeah. I want freedom. And respect. I’m sick of being stuck in a cage and being told what to do.”

“Then how would you like to be an Admin?”

Celeste flinched, but she kept her eyes on the ferns. Fisher scowled and opened his mouth, ready to object, but then he clamped his jaw shut and turned towards the rushing water. Colson didn’t look away from his screen, but the typing slowed a touch. 

Seven glanced at the other Admins and quietly said, “I’m a pokemon.”

“So?” Giovanni pumped a squirt of sanitizer into his hands and rubbed it between his fingers.

“If anyone finds out-”

“Make sure they don’t.” Giovnani poured more sanitizer onto his hands and stroked his face, working the alcohol into his jaw and cheeks. “Then it won’t be a problem.”

“But-”

“Is there any way for them to tell?” He turned towards his Admins. “Fisher, Celeste, did you have any idea?”

“None, sir,” Celeste answered immediately. Fisher glowered for a moment and shook his head.

“There,” Giovanni said, gesturing at the Admins, “Nothing to worry about.”

“But – but why? Why do you want me to be an Admin?”

Giovanni’s eyes sparkled as he leaned forward. “You have potential,” he said. “You infiltrated a White Knight stronghold, killed eleven guards with just a knife, and wounded the enemy commander.”

“That has nothing to do with one’s ability to lead,” Celeste said. She glanced warily at Giovanni before returning her gaze to the ferns.

“Correct,” Giovanni said, nodding towards the Admin. “However, you are too much of an asset not to promote. That’s why it’s unfortunate I can’t promote you, not after what you did.”

“What I did?” Seven glanced at Giovanni, meeting his hard green eyes for half a second before lowering to his suit. It was so thoroughly cleaned and pressed that it dimly reflected the green light, taking on the color of sage. She could smell the alcohol wafting from his skin, so strong it burned her nose. “What did I do?”

“You killed Dekkard.” His voice remained completely impassive, as if he were commenting on the weather. “There’s a death penalty for killing a fellow Rocket of any rank or station.”

Seven swallowed hard and glanced around. Even though she realized they wouldn’t have gone through the trouble of treating her wounds just to kill her afterwards, she couldn’t dismiss the fear crawling on her skin like a swarm of spiders. 

Giovanni took a pear half, picked up his knife, and made two cuts into the flesh, gouging out the core. He took the sliver of tough fruit by a thin strand of stem and dropped it in a garbage can.

“However,” he said, “I bear some responsibility for his death. I was well aware of your potential reaction to being discovered, but I did nothing to stop it.” He raised the knife to eye level, inspected the edge, and then brought it down in a fast swipe, slicing through the fruit but stopping short of the desk. “So, instead of killing you, I’ll offer you a trade. Colson, the presentation.”

Though the Admin’s fingers never changed pace, he made a white screen unfurl from a slot in the ceiling. A projector popped out of a wall next to the door, flickered to life, and put a picture of a squat, gloomy stone building on the screen. On the ramparts, emblazoned in big blue letters, were these words: Stonebough Prison.

“Six months ago, around a hundred Rockets were arrested in a police raid.” The projector clicked, and a new image popped up on the screen. Faces passed left to right, each holding a sign with their name and rank. Some gazed dejectedly at the camera, while others gave defiant stares and obscene gestures.

Seven brought a hand up to her chest. She could feel her heart pounding through her fingertips. “You want me to break them out.”

“I understand you have quite a bit of experience in that department.” He took a manila folder sitting on his desk, opened it up, and leafed through pages of reports. “Tricking cameras, slipping through vents, improvising with silverware and plates, impersonating staff, digging hidden tunnels, you know all the tricks.”

“I never got out until you showed up.”

“But they won’t know what they’re up against.” The barest hint of a smile curled Giovanni’s lips ever so slightly upwards. “Here’s the deal. Get every Rocket out of that prison and bring them safely back here. Make sure no one, police or Rocket, discovers your real identity. And lastly, there is one person I want you to make sure never leaves that prison alive.”

The screen changed again, showing only one face. It was a man’s face, completely bald, with vacant brown eyes, thin eyebrows, and smooth, sunken cheeks.

“That is the former Admin known as Mad Hax. He got his whole unit ambushed and arrested because he never updated the security in his base like I ordered him to.” Giovanni’s knife plunged into the other half of the pear, spurting juices up the blade as the knife sank into its flesh. “Kill him and leave his body in the prison, and get everyone else out safely. How you get it done, I leave up to you. Is that understood?”

Seven quickly nodded and said, “Yes sir. I’ll leave right away.”

She got up from the chair, but her head started spinning. With a grunt, she sat back down and brought her hand up to her head. Beneath her fur, her skin burned to the touch.

“Not now,” Giovanni said. “You need to recover, to prepare, and to plan.” He got another squirt of disinfectant and rubbed his hands again. “You have three months to finish the mission. In the meantime, I’ll grant you access to whatever resources you need. Any pokemon, any personnel, if they’re at my disposal, they’re at yours.”

“I – I understand.” Lights danced before Seven’s eyes, and she tasted vomit at the back of her throat. “I think I need to lie down.”

Giovanni nodded and turned towards Celeste. “Get the sub- Steven back to bed, and make sure he isn’t seen.” He reached into a drawer and took out Seven’s knife. It glittered in the green light. “Take this,” he said as he slid it across his desk. “I had it cleaned.” His eyes drilled holes through Seven’s skull as he asked, “You stabbed their commander with this blade, right?”

Seven nodded, and nodded again when he asked if the commander was the last one stabbed. A soft smile curled Giovanni’s lips. “Very interesting,” he said. 

Celeste walked over to Seven, grabbed her by the shoulders, and hoisted her to her feet. Seven slumped over Celeste, and she nearly fell over from the weight. Fisher rushed over and tucked his shoulder under Seven’s right arm. Colson, still typing, said, “The direct route to the medical ward will be clear for the next ten minutes. Get going.”

Seven tried to keep her eyes open and keep her feet beneath her, but the harder she tried to stay awake, the heavier her eyelids grew, until she couldn’t keep them open anymore. For another minute, she focused on the gentle scrape of floor on her claws, until that too faded to nothing, and Seven was left floating in darkness.


	21. Chapter 21

The pistol in Seven’s hands quivered and slid as she tried to tighten her grip, but no matter how she tried to hold it, underneath the illusion of humanity she wore, her fingers were too long and her claws kept slipping on the trigger. After weeks of trial and error, she decided to hold the grip, along with part of the barrel, with one hand, and pull the trigger with the other. It made the fingers in her right hand numb after firing a few shots, and it took her a while to draw, but it made for a steadier shot. Even so, at twenty feet, she missed more often than she hit, and the tiny red bull’s-eye at the center of the target eluded her.

The gun range, a large room cut into two areas by a row of shooting galleries, had shelf after shelf of firearms and cartridges on one side and a field of targets, mannequins with rings painted on their chests holding cardboard guns in slack arms, were scattered in a jumble on the other side. Some targets had lost limbs and heads to countless barrages of bullets, and others would’ve looked completely at home in a Macy’s wearing khakis and a polo.

Seven heard the door slam shut behind her. She didn’t even have to turn to know who it was. Steadying her aim, she took a deep breath, waited for her arms to stop shaking, and pulled the trigger. She was aiming for the chest, not the head, but the shot took one of the mannequin’s ears off.

Fisher walked up to an adjacent booth and stared at the mannequin. “You only have four days left. Stop wasting time with this.”

“I’m getting better,” Seven said defensively. With a bit of fumbling, she ejected turned o the safety and set the smoking gun on a table. “I hit the last one in the head.”

“You were aiming for the chest.” He took out his own pistol and fired three quick shots. The three mannequins in the front row sprouted holes in between their eyes. “Don’t try to be something you’re not. You’re only going to get yourself killed.” Seven bristled at the comment, but she said nothing in return.

Without warning, Fisher drew a knife out of his belt and lunged at her. Out of reflex, she grabbed his wrist, twisted hard, pulled him close, and planted a knee into his gut. He staggered back, but the padding in his jacket kept the wind from going out of him.

“The gun was right there,” he said. “If you were even halfway decent at handling a gun, you could’ve flipped the safety and shot me in the gut before I stabbed you.” He put the knife away and dusted off his arm. “But your instincts told you not to use it, and they were right.”

Seven clenched her jaw and picked up the gun. The barrel still felt hot to the touch, but she ignored the heat as she placed it back on a shelf. “What do you want?”

“Colson wants to see you,” he said as he took a long, thin sniper rifle from the shelf. He set it on a table and looked down the barrel. “He wants to review the materials list with you.” 

Seven bowed and turned away. As Seven left the shooting range, she heard the loud, sharp crack of the sniper rifle, followed a heartbeat later by a dull thunk as a bullet slammed into the head of a mannequin towards the back wall. She didn’t even have to turn around to know he hit it between the eyes. Fisher always hit his targets between the eyes.

Seven found Admin Colson in his private room, right next to Giovanni’s office. His room was brightly lit, so much so that Seven had to shield her eyes when she walked in. Between the lights overhead and the screens covering all the walls, it felt like walking inside of a star.

Against one wall was a desk, which was cluttered with an assortment of crystals, geodes, and fossils. Four keyboards, each angled towards a different set of screens, rested on blocks of quartz and jade. Each crystal glowed so brightly in the ambient light that the reflections drowned out their natural color.

A huge black leather chair, curved and padded so well that it served for a bed, faced the desk. Without turning the chair, Admin Colson said, “You’re right on time. Have a seat.”

There were no other chairs in the room, but there was a shiny metal trunk, which held all the Admin’s clothes, sitting in a corner next to the door. Seven brushed the dust off the top, sat, and waited. Colson kept typing for another five minutes, and the clacking of the mechanical keyboards echoed off the screens. A high-pitch whine from all the hard drives embedded in the walls made Seven’s ears ring, but she kept her hands at her side.

“I have everything you asked for.” This time, he turned the chair and faced her. A large cardboard box with a big red R on the side sat in his lap. Seven walked over to him and took the box. It felt light, and it clanked when she shook it. The tape peeled away without resistance, and the lid popped open.

Wrapped in bubble pack were four pokeballs, a pistol, a knife, a remote camera and screen, noisemakers, a gas mask, a head-sized bag of organic beef jerky, a roll of duct tape, a first aid kit, a flashlight, two bottles of water, and clips to keep everything in her waist-length hair. The pistol was custom-made for her hands, far longer in the grip, longer in the barrel, and tipped with a silencer for steadier aiming and quieter shots. The knife was a six-inch single-edged blade that was sheathed in its own grip. The blade came out at the slightest flick of her wrist and stayed straight until she pressed a button on the side.

Each pokeball had a golden R embossed onto the top half, and beneath it, in gold text, was the species of the pokemon. Seven turned each pokeball in her hands, rubbing her claws against the sleek metal surface and thumbing the release button. In total, she had a porygon, a haunter, a noctowl, and a torkoal.

Seven cracked open the first aid kit and found three rolls of gauze, a bottle of aspirin, a needle and thread, antiseptic, bandages, and a pair of pliers. Then she tested the remote camera, tilting it and watching the screen track its movement. She also tried on the gas mask, and although it got stuffy inside, she could feel the suction grip the sides of her face without any leaks. A large plastic slit gave her full visibility throughout her horizontal range of vision, but if she wanted to see the ceiling or the floor, she had to tilt her head. 

Lastly, Seven tried the flashlight. It had two settings, a low beam that couldn’t even be seen amidst all the screen lights, and a high beam that smashed through their light like a hammer. She grinned and straightened her back as she thought of how much darkness she could pierce with this tiny little tool.

Seven slapped a hair clip on everything in the box and stuck it in her hair. Though they tugged back on her head, the clips held everything against the back of her head. Reaching into the mass of hair, she hunted for each item in her arsenal until she could find anything on the first try.

When she looked back at Admin Colson, she was taken aback that he was still facing her. He had an absent expression on his face that made it impossible to read his thoughts.

“Thank you,” she said nervously. “Is there anything else?”

Colson didn’t say a word for a minute. Then he leaned further back into his chair and looked up at the ceiling.

“You remember Seamus, right?”

Seven flinched as she remembered the gunshot and his blood seeping into her fur.

“Yes.”

“He was my younger brother.” Colson spun his chair around, snatched a coffee mug off of his desk, and allowed the chair to turn full circle. He took a sip as the chair jerked to a stop. “He was a college professor at Yale, for neuroscience. Got his PhD there. Anyways, he taught for a couple of years until he got a DUI. He had a BAC of .14 and drove his car off the road. He got jailed for a week, and when he got back out, he found out he no longer had a job. Nobody else wanted to take him either.”

“So you invited him here?”

Colson’s face stiffened. “Giovanni did. I had nothing to do with it.” He took another sip and shifted in his chair. “But that’s not the point.” Another sip, much longer and more methodical, interrupted the conversation. “That night, when Giovanni ordered him to fake an escape, I could’ve asked for mercy.”

“Wait, fake an escape? You mean, Seamus wasn’t trying to leave?”

Colson snorted into his cup. “Of course not. Seamus would never leave, not the way they were treating him. No, Giovanni was testing you, seeing what you would do if presented an opportunity to escape. He was quite pleased with the results, by the way.”

Seven leaned back against the wall, taking care not to press to hard against the screens. As she thought through that night’s events, she realized what Seamus almost said right before Giovanni shot him.

Colson tapped his mug with a fingernail. It rang with a soft, hollow plink. “I’m getting off topic again.”

Seven swallowed and hesitantly met his flat, expressionless gaze. “Then what is the point?”

“Giovanni told me ahead of time he was thinking about killing him, especially if he said too much.” He turned his chair, quickly typed while his chair moved, and let it swing him back around. “He told me so I could ask for him to be spared. But I didn’t. I watched him die.”

Sweat tickled Seven’s forehead. A large bead wound its way into her right eye, making her blink. It stung and rolled down her cheek like a tear. “Why?”

“Because I don’t do anyone favors, not even my own brother.” He reached behind the chair and set the mug down on its side on top of a topaz the size of his fist. “I’m only doing this because Giovanni ordered me to, so don’t expect any favors from me.”

“What if I did you a favor?” Seven blurted out before she could consider the question. Then she added quietly, “Would you return it?”

“I don’t do favors,” Admin Colson repeated firmly. He folded his hands into a steeple and leaned forward, resting his chin on the points of his fingers. His eyes seemed to bore straight through the illusion she wore and through her skull, analyzing the flickers of current running through her brain, as if she were just another computer with a calculable input and output. Then he added, “But I do consider trades. Have a good day, Steven.”

Recognizing the signal to leave, Seven bowed, took the box, left the clips in her hair, and quickly walked out the door. Her hair, laden with the smuggled goods, swayed side to side with each step, but the clips held.

After she put the box in her room and emptied her hair into it, she walked through the medical ward, to Celeste’s room. The Admin was staring at a wall of medical charts, and she didn’t turn when the door opened.

“Your arm healed nicely,” she said absently. “No permanent lesions or loss of muscle mass.”

“Are you going to do the check-up?” Seven asked.

“No point. You’ve been stable for weeks, far earlier than I would’ve thought. Must be because of what you are.”

Seven ground her teeth, but she said in an amiable tone, “I’ll get going then, Admin Celeste.” She added a quick bow after that, but the Admin didn’t seem to notice.

“It’d be nice to have those guys back. It’s been too quiet since they got caught.” Then Celeste turned and gave her a small smile. “Try to come back in one piece this time, okay? As much fun as it was putting you back together, I’m very busy.”


	22. Chapter 22

Bruno stifled a yawn as the Commissioner Mason booted up a power point presentation titled “Rockets Raid WK Warehouse.” Peter, sitting next to him, slid a cup of coffee across the long, wooden table.

“Didn’t sleep well last night?” he asked. “You look dead tired.”

A combination of sneaking out, a cup of berry liquor, and spending a sleepless night staring towards the rumbling mass of aura at the edge of his senses made his eyelids droop, but he didn’t dare say any of it. Instead, he gave a noncommittal shrug and drained the coffee in one go. He nearly gagged. The coffee was strong enough to strip paint off a wall.

“Not my choice of coffee either,” Peter said with a chuckle, “But it’ll keep you awake, that’s for sure.”

Bruno held back another yawn and held out the mug. Peter topped it off from a pitcher in the center of the room, and took a packet of sugar out of his pocket. Bruno tore the packet open, poured the contents onto his tongue, and felt the sweetness send a tingle through his whole jaw.

The Commissioner cleared his throat. Gregory Mason was a tall, stout, muscular man who had to duck under most doorframes. He was halfway bald, with a ring of gray hair surrounding a shiny patch atop his head. Thick brown frames held his glasses in place, and a gray goatee, speckled with white, clung to his chin like a shrub. He wore an officer’s blue uniform with silver trim at the shoulders, and bore a silver hawk on a steel chain around his neck that marked his office.

“Thank you all for coming here,” Mason said to the thirty officers sitting in front of him. “As you may be aware, the Rockets attacked a White Knights stronghold.”

Gregory Mason pressed a button on a remote, and the slideshow advanced. An image of a building, blown to pieces filled the screen. The two south corners of the building stayed upright, while the rest had fallen into a massive, smoking crater.

“Very little evidence remains due to the collateral damage, but what we found suggests that this was an important warehouse for the Knights, housing weapons, explosives, and pokemon.”

Bruno’s jaw clenched as the presentation showed pokeballs, covered in ash and rubble, strewn at the crater’s bottom.

“We also don’t know how the Rockets got this intel. Even we didn’t know about this site until after the attack started, and we weren’t able to get anyone on the scene before it was over.”

A blank slide, with a white background, flashed onto the screen. Mason looked back at it and pressed the button before continuing his speech.

“Now, I’d like to discuss the pros and cons of what happened last night before we decide anything else.” As he said this, a black header saying “Pros and Cons” appeared at the top of the slide.

“First, the pros,” the Commissioner said with the press of a button, bringing up a street, sparsely populated and absent of white masks. “Favor for the Knights plummeted after the attack, along with simultaneous assaults on forty-six civilians. This also secured the mayor’s powerbase, for the time being…” the Commissioner trailed off, and his brow furrowed up. Those two points appeared in green text on the left, underneath Pros, but it seemed pitifully short compared to the size of the screen. Then, muttering under his breath, he went on.

“This also seems to have caused a lull. The Knights need to recuperate, and the Rockets are taking time to fortify themselves. That would ordinarily mean we’d have breathing space as well.”

He let that ‘ordinarily’ hang in the air like a guillotine before letting the silence fall. “Unfortunately, there’ve been hundreds of complaints already, and more coming in.” A graph depicted the alarming upward trend of calls into the office. “They want arrests, and they want them yesterday. It’d take another Mad Hax to get them quiet at this point.”

A few officers chuckled at that, but most grimaced at the graph pointing towards the ceiling, and at the red text that popped up under Cons. Then another point popped up as Mason unconsciously tightened his grip on the remote.

“Oops, sorry about that,” he said with a weak chuckle. “And yeah, as you can see, we also know that, whatever the Knights had left there, the Rockets got their hands on. While it looks like there wasn’t much left, we know the Rockets left with an extra truck.”

Mason took a long swallow of coffee. He didn’t even blink at the taste. With a napkin, he dabbed stray brown drops out of his goatee, then he bunched up the limp brown cloth. With a graceful flick of his hands, he tossed it into a garbage can halfway across the room.

“As for our final problem, now the White Knights have vanished. No more press conferences, no more tours of their public offices. They’ve tightened up their ranks, and none of our spies are getting the slightest glimpse of what they’re up to. We’re completely blind.”

Those three words, in a red like dried blood, sat at the very bottom of the screen. Commissioner Mason took a deep breath, drank more coffee, and pressed the button. It said “Plan of Attack.”

“After careful consideration, we have decided to concentrate all our efforts on the Rockets. They have some new toys, and the taste of blood will have them thirsty for more. First, we’re going to redouble our efforts to infiltrate their ranks.

Almost everyone shifted in their seats. A few officers groaned, but it was too muffled to pick them out.

“Yes, I know, nobody’s happy to hear that, but we know too little. We need eyes and ears on the Rockets more than ever. It’s dangerous, but not nearly as dangerous as not knowing what they’re up to.”

The Commissioner looked back at the screen, which hadn’t changed. He rapidly pressed the button, and after a few seconds, that first bullet point popped up under the heading. It was quickly followed by a second.

“Blast it,” he muttered just loud enough for Bruno to hear. Then he tightened his face into a smile and said, “Yes, that’s the other priority we have. With all those weapons, the Rockets are going to need men to use them, and we have a small army of theirs in Stonebough. Half of you are going to be reassigned to prison duty for the foreseeable future, while the other half will work on keeping peace in the streets and getting moles in Rocket HQ. I also got approval to beef up the security budget in Stonebough Prison. When I’m done, a rattata can’t squirm through the pipes without passing by motion sensors and cameras.”

He turned the presentation off, ran a hand over his goatee, and stared directly in the eyes of every officer there. Bruno held his steely brown-eyed gaze for two seconds before his eyes drifted towards Peter.

Once Mason finished his survey of the room, he asked, “Does anyone have any comments?”

Peter raised his hand, just high enough for the Commissioner to spot. “What were the Knights planning to do with weapons and explosives?”

Gregory Mason grimaced. “Use them on the Rockets. I hope.” He shifted on his feet and asked, “Anyone else?”

For another twenty minutes, officers gave advice and asked questions. Bruno didn’t pay any attention to it. He could feel the violet glow tugging at his gaze. For a while, he stubbornly kept his head forward and took regular sips of the bitter black dregs in his cup, but his head gradually turned away from Peter. He thought he could read emotions in the swirling mass of aura, and it seemed to tremble with… what? Excitement? Fear? There was also relief, but flickers of unease lurked in her mind, like glowing sparks dancing through a flame.

Peter gave him a firm nudge. With a start, Bruno’s head whipped forward, and he glanced at Peter out of the corner of his eye. His lips were curled in a thoughtful frown, and he drummed his fingers on the table.

Once the officers were done talking, Mason gave them a salute and said, “Thank you for your time. You are dismissed!”

The officers rose as one and made for the door in a fluid double column. Bruno followed behind Peter and nearly bumped into another officer. With a murmured apology, Bruno hurried out of the room.

Peter drove them both to a nearby bakery, one with oran berry glaze on their donuts. He ordered one, just for Bruno, thought for a moment, and then got himself one as well.

After they sat down and got complimentary cups of coffee from a smiling waiter, Peter leaned forward, over his untouched donut, and said, “You seem… off today.” He took a swallow of coffee. “No, not just today. It’s been a few days now. All the sudden, you’ll start staring off in one direction, completely lost in thought, and then you get startled the second I touch you.” He put one hand gently on Bruno’s shoulder and asked, “Could you tell me what’s wrong?”

Beneath Peter’s hand, Bruno’s skin felt hot and sweaty. He fingered his donut, struggling to decide what to do. He couldn’t tell him about the meetings at the bar, they all agreed not to, and he wanted her to be a part of them…but she wasn’t one of them yet. So, he took out his paper and wrote down everything about the scarlet-haired pokemon and how she seemed to tug at him.

Peter read it all with a blank expression on his face. Bruno swallowed nervously and took a sip of coffee to steady his hands. Then, after a long, silent minute, Peter folded up the paper and put it in his pocket.

“I think I get the gist of it,” he said. “Part of me thinks we should go to Elder Arven with this.” His right eyebrow rose slightly with the implied question. Bruno settled back in his seat and slowly shook his head.

A bit of Peter’s smile slipped, but otherwise, he gave no sign of emotion. “I see. Then I suppose the only other option is to find her ourselves on our next day off.”

A smile lit up Bruno’s face, but Peter quickly brought his excitement in check. “With the way things are right now, I doubt we’ll get a break anytime soon.” Bruno’s smile vanished, but Peter doubled back, saying, “But they should keep us on patrol duty. Maybe you’ll run into her again.”

That thought brought back enough of Peter’s appetite for him to eat his donut, but he didn’t even taste the citrus glaze smeared across his muzzle.


	23. Chapter 23

Seven smiled as the wind, laden with the smells of a bakery and an Italian restaurant, ruffles the hair streaming behind her. With one hand, she holds it back until she remembers her illusion doesn’t hide her hair, only her hair color. 

Earlier that morning, as she paced back and forth through her room, she felt an irrepressible urge to get out and see the sky again. She asked Giovanni for permission, saying she would like to scope out the prison, and to her surprise, she received it. 

As a stern, older woman with long graying hair and stark cheekbones, Seven sat at a park bench. A gray jacket, plain blue t-shirt, jeans, and black tennis shoes completed her disguise. All around her, people crossed across the tree-lined gravel path, walking pokemon, licking ice cream cones, and calling to children halfway up the branches.

The silhouette of Stonebough prison lurked behind a thirty foot concrete fence. Her heart fluttered in her chest, her lips twitched, and she reached for a pokeball at her waist. She had taken to carrying around her pokemon, since so much of her mission depended on their obedience. Running her finger over the pokeball, she felt the gold print, which read “Magneton.” She shivered as she remembered the night Seamus died, but she didn’t pull her fingers away.

A young man, with windswept white hair, comely green eyes, and an easy smile, did a double take when he saw all the pokeballs on her belt. He stopped in his tracks, walked over to Seven, and gave a quick, polite wave.

“Hey, are you a serious trainer? I couldn’t help but notice you’ve got quite a few.”

Seven glanced down at her belt. All five pokeballs sparkled in the sun. She thought for a moment, then shrugged and said, “I like to think I have some skill.”

“How about we test it then?” The young man shifted his stance, revealing a full belt. “Three on three?”

“Sure. Where would you like to battle?”

“Here in the park should be fine, right?” He glanced over at an open clearing in one corner of the park. Another battle was winding down as a machoke had a mightyena in a headlock. Long scratches furrowed the machoke’s arms and chest, but it didn’t loosen its stranglehold. “Unless you’re packing even more heat than I think?”

Seven blinked at the question. Then she realized that having her torkoal use eruption in the middle of a city park would cause a lot of collateral damage. She considered her roster for a moment and decided that all her other pokemon would be subtle enough.

“It will do,” she answered. Her words were punctuated with a loud yelp as the machoke brought its hand down on the back of the mightyena’s head. It fell slack in the burly pokemon’s arms.

“Great! My name’s Kenny, by the way. Let’s get over there before someone else takes it.”

The young man sprinted over there without waiting for her name, while Seven walked over at a more leisurely pace, thinking how she should conduct the battle. She considered drawing out the battle, so she could spend more time handling her pokemon, but decided instead not to teach them any idleness.

“Hey, hurry up! I think I see someone coming!”

Seven glanced over and saw a pair of trainers, two girls in their younger twenties, eyeing the clearing, but they didn’t rise from their park bench. Seven trailed her fingers along the pokeballs, recalling the name of each pokemon as she tapped its ball and making sure she knew which was which.

“Alright, since I challenged you, I’ll call out first,” Kenny said in a rush. His weight shifted from foot to foot as if he had springs in his legs. His hand snapped to his belt, and with a flick of his fingers, he sent the ball spinning.

“Go, Shredder!”

Seven recognized the hulking metal behemoth that came out of the pokeball. Though it stood on four legs instead of two and lacked horns, it had the same metal armor and stony flesh as Fisher’s vicious tank. She tried to find its weaknesses and couldn’t think of anything that could break through its bulletproof hide. So, she would have to make it hurt itself.

“Go, Set!” Seven’s throw wasn’t quite as polished, but she didn’t fumble it in her fingers either. Landing in a graceful arc, her pokeball spat out a cackling haunter. It glanced back at her, mimicked a bow with one hand, and then stared at its opponent.

“Odd choice,” Kenny said with a frown as he scratched at his dyed white hair. “Shredder, use iron head!”

The lairon slammed its legs into the ground and barreled forward, head lowered like a battering ram. In a panic, Seven shouted the first command she could remember, one she counted on for her prison raid.

“Hypnosis!”

With a mirthful smile, the haunter spread out its hands. Its eyes flickered with pale purple lights that danced like will-o-wisps. Entranced by the light, the lairon slowed, then stopped, and stared into the haunter’s eyes. Its legs wobbled, and its eyelids drooped. Within moments, it was sound asleep.

“No, Shredder, wake up!” Kenny shouted loud enough to wake the dead, but not loud enough to get through Shredder’s thick skull. Its snore rumbled like steel girders and granite boulders grating together.

“Dream Eater!”

Admin Colson drilled that combo into her head during their efficiency lessons. Immobilize, then administer the finishing blow. The lairon thrashed as tiny purple orbs fluttered out of its ears and into Set’s gaping ghostly maw.

But before Set had finished eating, Shredder’s eyes snapped open. Its eyes glared daggers at the giggling ghost. With a joyous shout of “Yes!” Kenny ordered another iron head, with its eyes closed this time. Though Set had an easy time floating out of Shredder’s path, it couldn’t hypnotize without direct eye contact. Seven paused for a moment, letting the haunter dodge on its own while she came up with a plan.

“Confuse ray!”

The pulsing orange sphere slammed right into lairon’s skull, and it bellowed in anger, thrashing everything around it. The ground trembled as it left heavy footprints in the hard ground, and it snapped a low-hanging branch off one tree. The rampage proved no improvement to her situation, since it kept its eyes closed.

The rampage lasted for another minute while Seven thought over possible strategies. Set gazed, amusement plain on its face. It laughed and mimed eating popcorn as it settled into the crook of a tree.

Then Shredder regained its senses. It glared up at the tree and pawed at its trunk.

“Could you get your haunter down?” Kenny asked. “We’re not supposed to damage any trees.”

“Set, get down here,” Seven said in reply. The haunter swung around and around from a branch with one hand, flew off, did a loop, and landed with a bow in front of Seven.

Shredder charged again, eyes closed. Left with only one option, Seven said, “Destiny bond.”

Set gave her another bow, much deeper this time, and cackled maniacally. Black sparks shot out of the haunter and plunged into Shredder’s shadow. Kenny shouted “Stop!” but the order came too late. Shredder slammed head-first into Set. With a high-pitched snap, the haunter flew apart into a hundred black pieces, settling onto the ground like a shredded funeral shroud. 

As Set’s body broke apart, Shredder’s shadow writhed. Black chains wound out of the ground, wrapped themselves around Shredder, and pulled. The lairon fell to the ground with a thud and struggled to rise, but the chains kept pulling. Shredder gasped for breath, reached forward with one foot, and then sagged.

Kenny called back his pokemon with a perplexed frown. “Weird strategy,” he said, “But it worked, I guess.” He threw another pokeball, making this one bounce off his chest, roll down his right leg, and flicked it up with his foot. The pokeball cracked open in midair, and an enormous bird glided to the nearest tree. The staraptor gazed down at the bare earth with piercing orange eyes, and it tossed the red plumage over its brow like a tuft of hair.

Seven thought about calling out her noctowl, but she didn’t like its odds against the bigger bird. Her hand next went to the porygon, but the computer program didn’t seem suitable for battle.

And that left the magneton. She called it out, and its eyes snapped first onto the trainer, and then the bird in the tree. Seven heard a gentle purr of circuits processing.

Kenny grimaced. “Damn, good choice. Come on Skywalker, use the force and close combat!”

Seven wasn’t sure if he was referencing Star Wars or giving a command with that whole use-the-force part, but she saw that the name Skywalker did the staraptor poor justice. It seemed to flit through the air without effort and rapidly closed on her magneton. She almost called for a discharge, but that would likely knock out the wires overhead. Instead, she said, “thunder wave!”

A pulse of electricity rippled through the air, but Skywalker effortlessly flitted aside. It slammed into the magneton, and it flew apart into three heads. Two heads wobbled as they rose, but the third struggled to rise.

“Discharge, and make it a small one!” The two heads obeyed, emitting a small crackling sphere. Skywalker shot into the air like a spear and soared high overhead. Using the opportunity the extra distance gave them, the two heads sent pulses of electricity into the third. With an effort, it rose to join the other two and reformed their trinity.

“Get ready to finish it,” Kenny shouted, cupping his hands towards the staraptor. “Sky attack, and put everything into it!”

“Lock on,” Seven told her magneton, “And wait for it to get close.”

She looked up and saw Skywalker twinkling like a star in the sunlit sky. Then the star turned into a comet, rushing towards her magneton with unbelievable speed.

Seven waited for a loud click from her magneton. Then she shouted, “Thunderbolt!” 

“Detect!” Kenny shouted at the same time.

An arc of electricity, bunched up into a ball at the front, soared towards Skywalker and followed its movement, but at the last second, the staraptor whirled, darting aside. The bolt crackled past, and though it turned to pursue, it wasn’t nearly fast enough to catch the bird. Seven only had a split second before the blow would land.

“Self destruct!”

The staraptor was close enough to tickle the magneton with its crest feathers when it exploded. Arcs of thunder rippled out of the core, and with a thunderous boom, the heads split apart. Air ignited, flashing red and white, and a shockwave shot out like the gong of a bell.

Seven’s magneton lay in three smoldering pieces, one dangling from a tree branch, a second propped against a tree trunk, and a third close enough for her to turn it over with her foot. Ash covered its chrome body, and its eye stared feebly up at her.

The staraptor wobbled on its feet, smoke rising from its feathers, until it gave a muffled squawk and toppled. Kenny shook his head as he called it back.

“I hope we’re not going to draw. That would be boring.”

Kenny’s hand jerked over his belt. He mumbled something about type coverage, glanced at Seven’s belt, and then clamped his hand around the first ball on his belt. A green lizard came out of this one, and the moment it came out, it darted straight for the nearest tree. Except for its orange belly, it nearly vanished in the leaves.

Seven felt really tempted to call out her torkoal, but an image of trees burning like torches made her grab the noctowl. She was pleasantly surprised when Kenny swore to himself.

“Flying,” he cursed to himself. “Thought you’d have a water type. Well, I still have a chance. Gex, thunderpunch!”

Seven looked at the tree it had been, but the grovyle leapt from the other direction. Before she could puzzle out how it snuck around her, she shouted “aerial ace!” 

The noctowl vanished in a brown blur, and Gex’s eyes widened as its hand, crackling with sparks, passed through empty air. Then, just as quickly, the noctowl darted forward and slammed into Gex’s side. The lizard fell to the ground, clutching its side. It staggered to its feet, panting, almost ready to fall over. But Kenny’s smile widened.

“Giga drain!”

Before Seven could blink, tiny vines snaked out of grovyle’s wrists and wrapped themselves around her noctowl.

“No, Horus, get out of there!”

The noctowl flapped fiercely against its prison, but the vines held fast. They dug into Horus’ skin, and green light pulsed down their length into Gex. Its leaf perked up, and its breathing deepened while Horus started panting and resisted less.

“Now, drag it in and finish it with thunderpunch!”

“Horus, confuse ray!”

The noctowl twisted in the vines and fired a glowing orange sphere at Gex, but it danced nimbly aside and yanked down. Horus landed with a thud, and before it could flap its wings, Gex pounced and landed a powerful, crackling blow on top of Horus’ head. Its flapping stopped.

“Sweet!” Kenny shouted. “I thought you had me there for a moment.”

Seven looked down at her dazed, stunned noctowl, and a flicker of fear darted through her. If she couldn’t beat one kid, how would she fare against a whole prison full of trained security?


	24. Chapter 24

As Seven mulled over her loss against Kenny, she caught a flash of blue and green out of the corner of her eye. She angled her head to look at it and saw a blue-furred pokemon in a green t-shirt. As she stared at it, the pokemon pointed towards her. A tall man in a tight-fitting blue shirt that revealed every curve of his well-toned chest and arms looked her way. Suddenly nervous, Seven reached into her pocket and took a handful of dollars.

“Here, I have to go,” she said, pressing the money into Kenny’s hands.

The young man looked nervously at the bills sticking out from between her fingers. “No, that’s okay, I just wanted a battle, I’m not looking for money.”

Seven gave him a broad, gentle smile that showed none of the anxiety beneath her mask and said, “Get your pokemon something nice, alright?”

Kenny beamed and gathered up the money. “Thanks! Let’s battle again sometime!”

Seven looked back at the pokemon. It was walking straight towards her, pulling the man along by his wrist. She turned away and made herself walk out the park and onto the street. Up ahead, she saw a store with a huge glass front window, polished enough to give murky reflections of anything walking towards it. Seven approached it and peered carefully into the glass. Farther back in the reflection, a blue and green blur stalked her black shadow.

She turned into an alley. Once she was out of sight of the streets, she broke out in a dead run, darting around garbage cans and dodging shards of glass littered on the ground. She cleared a hundred meter stretch, turned right at a fork, and waited, just behind the wall, for signs of pursuit. Within seconds, the blue pokemon darted into the alley and jogged towards her.

As Seven ran deeper into the maze of alleyways, her mind raced. She didn’t have any guesses who they were or why they were pursuing her. A Rocket wouldn’t let a pokemon lead them around like that, and civilians would’ve given up at the alley. That left undercover police. With a shiver, Seven picked up the pace, clambered up a fire escape, and leapt across rooftops.

Once she was sure that the pokemon couldn’t possibly follow her winding path, she leaned against a rusted metal door on top of an abandoned apartment complex and waited to get her breath back.

Just as she was about to backtrack and return to Rocket HQ, she heard a bark to her right. She turned and jumped when she saw the blue pokemon was looking at her. At a closer look, its face vaguely resembled her own, but there the similarities ended. Its mane was bunched up in braids, long pointed ears stuck up, and shiny white spikes jutted out of its chest and paws.

Seven froze, waiting for it to make a move while she analyzed her surroundings. She could try breaking through the rusted door, but she had no idea what lay beyond, or she could try jumping over the edge and sprinting away. She wondered how fast the pokemon could run and decided she didn’t like her chances of escaping.

The pokemon barked something else and held out one paw. Seven glanced at it in confusion.

“I – I don’t understand,” she said. “Why are you following me?”

The pokemon cocked its head to one side in confusion. Then it took a notepad off of its shirt and started writing. Seven marveled at how it was able to hold a pen between its short, thick fingers.

The note read, “You don’t understand me?”

“No, I don’t, not when you bark like that, but I can read.”

The pokemon seemed even more confused. It tore the page out and handed it to her. With nowhere else to put it, Seven tucked it into a pocket in her jacket. Then the pokemon wrote another message.

“I’m sorry. I never met a pokemon that could only speak like a human.”

Seven hastily glanced down. Her illusion was still in place. She stifled the urge to deny being a pokemon, and instead, she waited for the pokemon to write something else. The lucario, visibly unnerved by the sudden silence, broke it by tearing out the page, gently, as if to respect the quiet, and then noisily scribbled another message.

“What is your name? My name’s Bruno.”

Seven almost gave him her real name, and paused again when she was about to say Steven. She settled on the first name she could think of, Serena.

“Serena,” Bruno confirmed on a piece of paper. “I’m sorry if I startled you. I just wanted to meet you, since I first saw you.” The pokemon looked away when she read the note, and she thought she caught a hint of a blush beneath the blue fur on his cheeks.

“When did you see me? I’ve never seen you before.”

Bruno looked even more abashed as he wrote a reply. “It was a few months ago, when we were chasing a Rocket Grunt. I saw you in an alley from a rooftop. Some Knights were talking to you, and then they ran off towards the criminal.” He cocked his head to one side and wrote another note. “Where is your trainer?”

Seven felt her stomach twisting itself into knots. Quickly, she thought of a way to explain the absence of a trainer.

“My trainer sends me out to do errands, sometimes.” Seven realized it was true enough, in a fashion. “He doesn’t like leaving home.” Then she thought over Bruno’s words, and an unsettling question came to mind.

“And what does your trainer have you do?”

Bruno wrote quickly and handed her the paper. “My trainer’s a police officer, and I help him catch criminals. It gets dangerous, sometimes, but I like protecting everyone.”

Seven wanted nothing more than to run away, but with sheer force of will, she kept her feet rooted to the concrete. “Why were you following after me?”

Bruno’s pen paused over the paper. The fur on top of his head scrunched up, and after a few fitful starts, he handed her a message. Three rows of strike-outs topped the paper, followed by, “I just wanted to talk.”

Seven felt her chest loosen up, but her skin still felt clammy and her mouth, dry. She swallowed and asked, “What do you do as an officer? Do you get stuck on guard jobs?”

“No, I get sent out on patrols, where my ability to sense aura proves more useful. Your aura is amazing, by the way. I’ve never felt anything like it. It’s like the sun. Even among countless stars, it burns so brightly it obscures them.” Again, Bruno’s eyes shied away from her gaze, and then he wrote another message. “I guess I also wanted to meet you because your aura’s making me distracted. It’s hard to get out of my head.”

That last note of his made Seven’s skin crawl, although she couldn’t piece together why. “Are there other pokemon like you? I’ve never seen a pokemon like you either.”

“Some,” Bruno answered. “A few more work for the police like me, but I’m the only one here in Palsitore. Most lucario don’t do well in cities. There’s too much aura to read, but I grew up in a large town, so I can deal with it.”

Suddenly, Bruno looked away. Then he quickly wrote a long note. “I have to go. Is there a way that we could meet again? I would like to talk to you again.”

Seven wasn’t sure her nerves would last another conversation like this. “I don’t know,” she said. “I tend to stay at home a lot, and my trainer doesn’t like strangers.”

The pokemon looked crestfallen as he barked a goodbye and leapt over the side of the building. Seven watched him clamber down a fire escape so quickly it looked like he was in free fall and dart through the alleyway fast enough to kick up papers in his wake. Taking a deep breath, Seven slumped against a wall and took out the pile of papers sitting in her pocket. She wanted to scatter them to the wind and forget this ever happened, but Giovanni needed to know. Giovanni would know what to do.

Seven looked one last time at Bruno as he vanished around a corner, frowned, and walked back to Rocket HQ.

*******

Bruno tried to hide his frown as he took off dark green shirt. The sleeves caught on the spikes jutting from the tops of his hands, and he absently shrugged them free. It had taken a few months for the patrols to quiet down since the Warehouse Attack, as the raid on the White Knight base was called. Today was their first day off in nine weeks, and as Peter promised, they decided to search for the mystery pokemon.

Bruno had trouble keeping his thoughts off the blazing aura at first, but it got easier to ignore as the weeks went on. He still found himself staring towards it at odd times, and he spent a few sleepless nights clutching his blankets as if trying to strangle his insomnia.

“So, you saw the pokemon?” Peter asked.

“Her name is Serena,” Bruno answered with a paper. “She was… fascinating.”

“What was she like?”

Bruno scratched at his head with one hand as he wrote with the other. “I don’t know how to put it. She seemed quiet and tense, and I had no idea how to talk to her. She seemed afraid.” Bruno gave a bark like a laugh and wrote, “I guess I did chase her down an alley.”

The smile on Bruno’s face vanished, replaced with dread heavy as an ocean over his back. “Oh god,” he wrote, “I chased her down an alley like she was some criminal. No wonder why she told me she didn’t want to see me again.”

Peter grimaced as he read the paper. “Ouch. She said it like that?”

“No, not directly,” Bruno answered. “She said her trainer wouldn’t like it, but I get the feeling she was making an excuse not to see me.”

Peter laughed, and Bruno glared at him. “Sorry,” the man said, “I couldn’t help myself. It sounds a lot like human relationships, when a guy gets…” His voice trailed off, and Bruno sensed a flicker of concern in Peter’s aura, like a scarlet fish darting through a pond. Just as quickly, the concern was ruthlessly smothered, and Peter’s soul was a calm, clear blue pool once again. The Sudoku book was in his hand, and he was filling in numbers so quickly his hand never stopped moving.

Once Peter was done with the puzzle, he tucked the book back in his pocket, and then he said, “Whatever happens, happens. Don’t get hung up on the result, because before you know it, you’ll find someone else.” Then he stretched his arms and looked up at the clock. “Alright, let’s get to bed. They’re going to work us to the bone tomorrow to make up for the day off.”

Bruno didn’t think he would be able to sleep that night, not with all the thoughts scrambling through his head. Snippets of his conversations with Serena and Peter raced through his head until sleep snuck up on him.


	25. Chapter 25

Today was the day. Seven stared up at Stonebough Prison’s high stone walls, crowned with a thick tangle of barbed wire. Six towers jutted from each point of the hexagonal walls, and two guards watched from each. Beyond the walls, footsteps echoed on a stone courtyard, making audible trails as guards patrolled around the squat, blocky building. There were too many to count, and everywhere along the wall, there wasn’t a single gap for longer than two seconds.

She stood in a tangle of bushes twenty feet away from the walls, sheltered from the view both of the guard towers and pedestrians in a nearby park. Her tangle of brush stood in a no-man’s-land, too close to the prison for anyone to want to venture there, but too far from the walls to suffer the clippers and axes of the prison’s groundskeepers. Old weathered stumps stood like graves around the walls, and the bushes stood like mourners amidst the chopped trees.

For good measure, Seven wrapped the bushes in an illusion as she called out her pokemon. The sudden use of power squeezed her chest like a seviper, but she forced herself to keep breathing.

“Listen closely,” she told her five pokemon. “There’s a lot of humans in there we need to get out.” She took a tiny portable camera out of her hair, which had a velcro strap attached, and fixed it onto her noctowl’s forehead. “Horus, perch on a tower and keep lookout. Guide me through while I’m invisible to the service door, one hoot for forward, two for right, and three for left. Don’t let me run into a guard.” Seven pressed a finger against the earpiece in her right ear, wiggling it around to make sure it wouldn’t fall out. “Once I’m in, I’ll open a window so you can join me.”

After the noctowl chirped in agreement, she turned towards the haunter and porygon. “Thoth, Set, you two find their central computer network. Set, make sure you both get through unseen. Use hypnosis only if you have to, and make sure they don’t wake up. Thoth, you will hack into their system.” Seven tapped a screen tablet strapped to her wrist. “Keep contact so I can give you orders.”

The haunter cackled and bowed low, while the porygon gave a rapid nod of its blocky head. Then Seven looked at her last two.

“Ra, Magneton, you two will stay with me, in case I need to make a distraction… or fight my way out. If I call you out, Ra, I want you to use smokescreen right away. Magneton, discharge.”

The torkoal nodded slowly, as if its neck were draped with lead weights, while the magneton buzzed and blinked at her. She called four back while Horus took flight and settled ot top of the nearest tower. She watched the nearest guards, but neither of them noticed the owl perched above them.

Seven looked at the courtyard through the tablet on her wrist. Two dozen guards, each in pairs, marched wide circles around the perimeter without a word. When she saw a gap forming, she cloaked, dug her nails into the stone, and clambered up. She grit her teeth when her fingers found the barbed wire and pulled them back to the edge of the stone wall. Then, heaving with all the strength in her shoulders, she vaulted over the wire, fell thirty feet, and landed nimbly on her legs.

A few guards heard and went to investigate the sound. Horus hooted three times. Seven turned left and raced forward. She swallowed hard as the invisible needles and scalpels drifted towards her in the all-consuming darkness. Imagined metal caressed her skin as she whirled right, and needles slipped into her veins as she felt her hands touch stone. Holding a hand over her panting mouth, Seven walked quickly into a hidden nook next to a door and let the illusion vanish. She fell to her hands and knees, breathing deeply as the sting of scalpel cuts faded from her skin.

Holding the pokeball against her chest, Seven called out Set and ordered the haunter to peer through the door. Set grinned and melted through the doorway. Holding up two fingers, it floated above the building and pointed at two spots through the roof.

“Any cameras?”

Set nodded.

“Alright, let’s get started.”

Seven called out Thoth and pointed at the security panel next to the door. The porygon melted into it, and the screen flashed a string of binary code before the door pinged open. Seven threw it open and ducked around the right side of the door. One guard came out, gun raised and looking around. Just as he was about to round the corner and stumble on Seven, she threw a noisemaker to the left of the doorway. It went off with a small pop. The cop jumped and started towards the noise, and his partner came towards the doorway to watch him.

Seven disappeared and slipped through the doorway in the three seconds she had before the way was blocked again. Thoth and Set followed behind, camouflaged to look like the surroundings and lurking in the shadows, invisible to the three cameras overhead. Just as she felt her chest splitting open, Seven stumbled into a bathroom for the guards. She took the farthest stall, sat on top of the toilet, and took a water bottle out of her hair. She guzzled half of it, wiped the water from the fur around her lips, and put it back. The clip only half closed around the bottle, but after a minute of fiddling with it, Seven decided to leave it.

When she came out of the bathroom, Set and Thoth were waiting. “Get to work.”

They vanished, and Seven went back inside the bathroom, shivering as it slowly sank in that she was trapped in another prison.

“I’ll get out of this one too,” she mumbled. “Just stay calm.”

*******

As Set floated away with Thoth, the haunter chuckled to himself. The pokemon, though it looked, talked, and acted like a human, couldn’t hide her secrets from him. The torment and self-doubt emanating from her tasted like sugar crystals wafting on the wind. He flapped his tongue in the air as she turned towards the door, getting one last taste of her anguish before he went to his mission.

Following after Thoth, Set and his companion slipped past six guard patrols, went around two motion sensors, passed through three sets of infrared beams, and passed unseen beneath countless cameras. Set felt his amusement fading as the sense of danger went away, but he perked up when they encountered a thick metal door. An unsettling electrical signal clung to the walls around this room that made Set’s body tingle when he tried to pass through it.

“How do we get in?” Set asked Thoth. “As much as I’d love to get fried to a crisp trying to unlock it from the inside, I’m open to suggestions.”

The porygon looked at him and said in a flat, monotone voice, “I can’t hack the console, not with all this electrical interference. The optimal way into this room is to steal a keycard from one of the patrols, and then disable the ECCM from inside.”

Set chuckled. “I wonder which guard has the tastiest dreams.”

“That won’t be necessary.” A white light glowed at the tip of Thoth nose. Leaning forward, Thoth pressed the light to Set’s forehead, and the light swam before his eyes.

“Technical Machine Thief downloaded. Now you can acquire the card without disturbing the guard.”

“Nice rhyme,” Set said with a laugh. Then he scowled without breaking his smile. “Hey, why did you make me forget Destiny Bond?”

“It was the least optimal move for this situation.”

“Goddamn it, that was my favorite move.”

“There is a 100% chance that you will have to deal with it.”

Set smothered a laugh in his huge, ghostly hands. “Was that sass? I thought computers were supposed to be boring.”

Thoth glared at him. “I calculated the optimal language to earn your cooperation. It would appear you respond best to snarkiness, crass humor, and human misery.

“You got me there.” Then he gave a low bow. “One keycard, coming up.”

It didn’t take long to find a patrol. The guards reeked of boredom and pent-up frustration. Licking his lips, Set snuck up behind the pair, reached out, and swiped a thin plastic card out of his pocket. It had a black bar on one side, and a bunch of letters and numbers on the other.

“Hmm… maybe this isn’t the one,” Set whispered to himself. “Better take more just in case.”

Set didn’t stop until he dug every last item from the officer’s pocket, including a plastic slab with the man’s face on it, a green card with a small black square on the end, and a thick black wad with slips of green paper inside.

Set chuckled at the handful of stolen loot and turned away. But then he wondered what else he could steal. Setting the cards in a corner, Set lurked in the officer’s shadow, reached up, and stole the gun from his holster. The haunter turned the weapon around in his hands before setting it aside. Another thief earned him a handheld radio. Set almost pressed one of the buttons, but he decided against it. Next, he got a flashlight from the man’s belt. He examined the glass bulb, and this time, he gave in to the temptation to press the button. He nearly dropped it when the light blinded him. Set turned it off and glanced nervously at the guards, but they didn’t notice.

“I better go before I do something stupid.” Set gathered up all the cards and floated towards Thoth, but then he decided one more couldn’t hurt. The haunter gathered all his shadowy energy in his right hand, darted forward, and swung it at the officer. He came away with a bundle of black fabric.

“Hey, what happened to my pants?” the officer shouted.

Set looked back at the officer. His thick, hairy legs and his light blue boxers were exposed. The haunter couldn’t help himself. The pants fell to the floor as the ghost smothered a cackle in his hands.

When he finally recovered, both guards were looking at him. His mirth vanished almost as fast as he did. The guards were startled when Set suddenly slipped into the shadows, but the guard with his pants on reached for the radio on his belt.

In a panic, Set appeared in front of both of them, putting them in deep sleep with hypnosis. Both guards hit the floor with a thud. The haunter glanced around nervously and peered into corners for hidden cameras. Satisfied that nothing saw, Set gathered his stolen loot, grabbed both guards by the collars of their shirts, and dragged everything back to the sealed room.

Thoth gave a start and then scowled at him when it saw the two unconscious guards.

“I calculated a small probability that you would fuck it up, but I never imagined you would do something so stupid.”

Set shrugged and held up the handful of cards. “Hey, I got the keycard like you asked. Well, one of these has to be it.”

One card, the green one with the black square, wriggled out of Set’s hand and floated in front of Thoth. “You were ordered to use hypnosis only when necessary. The keycard would’ve been easily acquired without attracting attention.”

Set almost objected and scowled when he realized the porygon was right. Instead, he said, “You can’t blame me for getting a little carried away. I had to get used to my new move.”

Thoth sighed. “I suppose I’ll have to factor that into my calculations next time.” It looked again at the guards, and its eyes widened at the one officer’s bare legs and exposed underwear. “What the hell happened to his pants?” Set started to chuckle, and Thoth glared at him. “No, don’t answer that. Now, I hope you’re ready to explain yourself to our master.”

Set blanched and grabbed Thoth by the chest. “No, come on, you don’t have to do that! It was just a little mistake, we can handle this!”

“The master must be apprised of all abnormalities we encounter.” It gave a sidelong glance at the bare legs and said, “That definitely qualifies as abnormal.”

“You’d be blamed too. You’re the one that told me to steal the keycard.”

“And you were in charge of stealth. The error is clearly yours, and the probability of me facing disciplinary action is less than four percent.”

Set saw an opening and lunged after it like a drowning man. “But four percent isn’t zero. Wouldn’t it be safer to make sure our master never finds out? We can keep them with us and knock them out whenever they wake up. That’s a good plan, right?”

“It’s a horrible plan. The odds of their absence not being noticed within half an hour is ten thousand to one.”

Set scowled. “Can’t you do some computer stuff so no one notices?”

Thoth considered it for a moment. “I’d have to look at their security system first. In any event, it will be very difficult to juggle that task and whatever else our master wants. If I notify master…”

“No, please! You don’t have to do that!”

Thoth gave him an appraising stare. Set felt his hackles rise as those expressionless eyes peered right through him.

“Then how about this?” Thoth’s nose glowed, and it pressed the light into Set’s forehead. With a start, the haunter realized he knew destiny bond again.

“Use destiny bond on me.”

“What?”

“Just do it.” Thoth’s eyes locked onto Set’s, and the ghost shifted uneasily. “Or do you want me to call the master?”

“Alright, I’m doing it!” A shadow passed from Set to Thoth, and the blackness wrapped itself around the porygon before it vanished.

“Good. Now, take my hand and swear an oath.”

Set cracked an uneasy smile. “But you don’t have any hands.”

Thoth just glared at him. “Fine, fine,” Set said, grabbing one of the porygon’s polygonal limbs. “Now what?”

“Say that you will do me one favor, no questions asked, when I ask for it.”

Set said the words and shivered when he felt his own shadow stir with the words. He jerked his hand away and stared at it. “What just happened?”

“The bond was made. Now you have to fulfill that oath, or you’ll be destroyed.” Set could’ve sworn the porygon would’ve smiled if it had a mouth. “There are many applications for destiny bond, if you’re intelligent enough to find them.” A faint hint of disdain coated Thoths’ last words.

The keycard floated through the air and slid through a slot on the security terminal. The door swung open, and Thoth floated inside. “Let’s get to work. You wasted enough of our time as is.”

As Set dragged the two bodies through the door, for the first time in his existence, he frowned.


	26. Chapter 26

After what felt like an eternity, huddling on top of the toilet seat and staring at the stall door, the tablet strapped to Seven’s wrist vibrated. A message flashed on the screen, simply saying, “I’m in. Limited access, but it should work.”

Claws clacking against the screen, Seven replied, “Track my progress, ping me if a patrol’s coming, and deactivate security devices in my path. Two pings if you need time.”

In reply, Thoth wrote, “Wait one minute. Guards passing outside your current position.” As Seven read the message, she could hear the footsteps stomping against the concrete floor just outside the bathroom. They quickly faded into silence, but Seven waited the full minute before opening the door.

The way deeper into the prison proved even more arduous than Seven feared. Long, narrow, snaking corridors that gently sloped down guarded the cells deep below ground. Sight lines extended for a hundred feet, without a single shadow to hide in. Thoth stopped her numerous points along the way to crack firewalls on cameras and deactivate daemons guarding alternate servers. Each time, Seven had to huddle against a wall and hope no guards would pass by, and each time, at least one pair of guards, walking shoulder to shoulder, would round the path and walk towards her. Each time, she made herself invisible, clambered up the walls, and pinned herself against the ceiling, sucking in her gut so she wouldn’t bump the hats the officers wore. More than one hat brushed the fur on her belly, but none of the guards noticed the slight twitch on their heads. 

And each time, the illusion came up more slowly, the invisible straps bound her tighter, the unseen knives loomed closer, and more phantom needles plunged into her arms and legs. Even with her invisibility banished and sight returned, the tight, close walls reminded her too much of the cell. Each breath caught in her throat, and her arms trembled. She dreaded the too-familiar twinge on her arms as the tablet alerted her to the next ordeal.

“No,” she muttered with each breath. “I won’t. Go back. Never. Won’t go. No cage. I’m human. A person. Won’t. No.” Step by plodding step, her words grew less coherent until each breath was a wordless snarl. The deeper she went, the dimmer her sight became. The lights overhead couldn’t keep the darkness at bay. Scalpels prodded her along the path, straps pulled her onward. Tongs picked at her teeth, tweezers pried her eyes open, ghostly liquors crept along her veins, leaving trails of burning fire and icy cold she could trace with a finger.

Then she felt a twinge in her throat. Seven’s eyes widened in recognition. Above all other pain she suffered in the dark operating room, that one cut the deepest.

“No,” she hissed. “I’m done being a test subject, I’m done! You don’t have any more power over me, professor! You’re dead, I’m alive, and you can’t hurt me!”

But the pain kept coming. She could feel the tendons in her throat part around a scalpel as it sliced through her adam’s apple. Tiny metal hooks wriggled into her vocal chords. Knowing what came next, Seven frantically rummaged in her hair and wrenched out the first object her hands grazed. It was a bag of beef jerky. She jammed the whole bag in her mouth, not even opening it.

One by one, she felt the cords in her throat get sliced away. Each cut brought a muffled scream as jolts of pain shot up her neck like spiked bullets. Forty-seven slices, that’s how many it took to slice through the bottom, followed by six injections into the severed area, then forty-two above the hooks. This time, she could feel the part of her, her lost vocal cords, dangling on the ends of metal hooks as the professor eased them out of her throat with his own hands.

Then came the part she hated the most. The pain subsided as the new cords were stitched into place and smeared with a warm, soothing jelly. Then she heard the words.

“Say your name,” came the whisper in the dark. “Go ahead, speak.”

The words caught in her throat. Tears streamed down her face, and searing pain clouded her sight, but the words came all the same.

“I’m Subject Seven,” she said.

“Good,” said the professor’s hoarse, quiet voice, reaching her ears from beyond the grave. “Now you can speak just like us. Now you will be more useful to us. Aren’t you happy?”

Seven shook with sobs, but she couldn’t help herself. All her ‘humanity,’ not even a gift, but an added feature, forced on her through needle and scalpel. And yet, she felt the words “Thank you” pass her lips, as soft as a caress on the cheek, as painful as a white-hot brand pressed into her flesh.

“Get up.” Dimly, through the professor’s words, she saw the same message on the tablet. Its dim, harsh light tapped on the darkness like a finger against a pane of glass. Staring at the screen, she stood up and growled at the voice in her head.

“You’re dead. You’re dead and I’m free.”

“Free?” She could see the professor’s gentle, mocking smile and feel his thick, pudgy fingers brush through her hair. “Freedom is a lie. We’re all frogs in the bottom of a well, looking up at a thin sliver of sky. Any frog that thinks there’s anything more, that scrapes its fingers raw climbing the slick stone walls, that starves itself reaching for that sky, that heaves itself over the side, finds another set of walls, another circle overhead.” The professor in her memories shrugged, and his grin widened. “It’s a bigger well, and maybe you can’t see the sides yet, but it’s still a well, and you’re still at the bottom.” Then invisible bullets punctured the vaporous image before her. Red mist streamed from the holes, and his smile bled across his face. “Get going. Another patrol is coming.”

She blinked. The image was gone, and instead, she was staring at the tablet. Those last words flickered before her, and she heard echoes of the whisper as she read them again and again.

Footsteps brought her back to her task, loud and heavy against the cold concrete floor. This time, while invisible, she sprinted towards them, making only the tiniest shuffling sound with her padded, silent shoes. If the guards felt a breath of wind as she flew over them, they dismissed it as a draft and kept walking without a single glance back.

The last minute of her descent went smoothly. During her hallucination, Thoth had hacked everything ahead, and Seven moved quickly enough to avoid the next patrol. Once down to the main facility, she ducked into a laundry basket and watched her surroundings.

The real Stonebough, the one buried beneath a mile-high hill of concrete and steel, held only forty-one prison cells. Reserved for truly dangerous criminals, whose crimes were filed on reports thick enough to crush them to death, these cells had the highest security the state could provide. Each door had encrypted digital locks, whose passwords changed at random intervals, each area had security cameras with submachine guns mounted beneath them, and each cell had vaporous green barriers on all four sides. The bare cells had floors of steel, and the prisoners weren’t trusted with a mattress, let alone chairs and a table. A hole in the middle of the floor, about three inches thick and rimmed with barbed wire, served for a toilet, and a greasy brown stain marked where their food was dumped.

The prisoners, two or three to a cell, huddled in their cramped confines, clothed with just enough skintight white fabric to offer some semblance of decency. Every single one of them had vacant, gaunt, hollow-eyed faces that stared absently in no particular direction.

Officers and their pokemon patrolled the floor. Each block of four cells had a pokemon circling each cell and two officers on standby in chairs at their center.

Luckily for Seven, two factors worked in her favor. One, each block of cells was split off by a giant steel wall, necessitated by all the weight pressing down on the ceiling. As a result, each group of cells was isolated. Wide double-doors with encrypted locks and fiberglass windows connected each cell. Two, the patrols, with a wide variety of pokemon, moved at different speeds. With correct timing, she could silence the guards and pokemon before they noticed anything amiss.

Seven waited outside the first area, staring through the window until she saw a gap in their patrols. She tried the knob, but it was still locked. Grimacing as the opening vanished, she hurriedly typed orders on the tablet.

“I was busy making sure those cameras wouldn’t kill you,” Thoth answered. “The first door will be tricky, but the rest will be quick.” Then, a minute later, “Okay, ready.”

Seven had to wait three more minutes for another opening, but this one gave her even more time. She flung the door open, slipped between two cells, and hit both officers from the side. Before they could turn and shout, she slammed both their heads together. One slumped in his chair, but the other struggled in her grasp. With one hand, she reached for the pokeballs on their belts and recalled their pokemon, and with the other, she pinched the man’s jugular. He clawed at her wrist, hard enough to draw blood at first, but gradually, the man’s hands fell to his sides and his chest went slack.

Seven checked the other doors quickly, one opposite the one she just entered, and the other to the right, both leading to other blocks of cells. Neither set of patrols noticed anything. Then, turning back to the cells, she considered the green barriers walling in each cell. She brushed her fur against it and felt it burn to a crisp as every atom of hair that entered the electromagnetic field got fried by a stream of electrons flitting through it.

“Can you turn off the cells?”

“Not without alerting the whole facility,” Thoth answered. “I could reroute the power, but that would take days.”

Seven shrugged and typed back, “I have a better idea.”

She went back to the door she opened and studied the hinges. Then she called out Ra.

“Burn through the hinges,” Seven told the torkoal. Ra grunted, and a plume of smoke shot out of the holes in its back. Flame shot out of her mouth in a tiny blue stream, searing steel like a welding torch. But even though the steel turned white hot, it refused to melt.

With a grunt, Seven wrenched on the door. The combined heat and stress snapped the hinge in two, leaving the door hanging loosely on the other hinge. Ra and Seven repeated the process, and with a high-pitched squeal, the door’s electronics popped out of the wall.

“Careful with that,” Thoth warned with a flurry of pings. “If you disconnect the lock, it’ll set off alarms.”

“I need the door,” Seven told it.

“I can’t imagine why, but if you want it that badly, cut the fifth red wire from the top and the third black from the bottom at the same time. You’ll have four seconds to bind the ends together. After that, you’ll have your door.”

Seven took out her knife and rummaged through the exposed electronics. She counted the wires twice before taking the two wires between her fingers. With a single deft motion, she sliced both wires, pressed both ends together, and had Ra melt them together.

“Perfect,” Thoth said, “But I still don’t see how it’ll help.”

Using the butt of her knife, Seven smashed through the fiberglass. Large jagged shards clattered across the floor. The remaining hole was just large enough to crawl through.

She approached the first cell. Only one man sat in this cell, a man so huge he took up enough space for two. Muscles the size of bowling balls, bulging beneath drawn, pasty skin, twitched as the man regarded Seven. His stare was expressionless, but a small smile touched his lips. His long, lanky hair hung in matted clumps around his face, but Seven could still recognize the Vice-Admin for Mad Hax, a bruiser known as Blacksmith.

“Giovanni sent you?”

Seven turned the door up-side-down and pushed it into the barrier. Sparks hissed and crackled off of it as the barrier parted around the metal.

“Mind the edges, they’re hot and covered in jagged glass.”

Blacksmith’s shoulders were almost as wide as the door, but he wriggled through without a scratch. He stood, brushed off his pale, hairy legs, and looked down at Seven.

“About damn time someone made it this far,” he said flatly. “Make sure you don’t fuck this up.”

“I won’t,” Seven replied. “But before we move on, I have a favor to ask of you.” She took the pistol from one of the guards and handed it to him. Without looking at it, Blacksmith turned off the safety and cocked the gun.

“By Giovanni’s orders, your former Admin, Mad Hax, is not to leave this place alive.”

“And you’re worried that he’ll kill you before you kill him.” Blacksmith chuckled dryly. “Smart man.” Then he paused and frowned. After a minute, he jammed the gun into his loincloth and said, “You can count on me, sir.”


	27. Chapter 27

Over the course of two grueling hours, Seven breached the remaining nine walled areas, took out eighteen officers and sixty-one pokemon. She didn’t bother cloaking for any breach, instead waiting for a gap in the patrols before darting in, knocking the officers on the head before they could turn towards the black blur in their peripheral vision, and either capturing or knocking out their pokemon. 

A nidorino dodged the capture beam and lunged towards a door, but Blacksmith caught the pokemon in a headlock and twisted hard enough to snap its neck. The burly man checked his arms for puncture wounds and kicked the corpse into a barrier, where it vanished in a plume of white smoke and a shower of sparks.

“Good thing I didn’t lose my touch,” Blacksmith said with a deep, booming voice brought down to a low whisper. Before Seven turned away from him, out of the corner of her eye, she saw him grab his gun and check the clip. Another click told her he did something more than put the clip back, but she couldn’t be sure what.

Another time, a noivern caught the sound of her footsteps and let out an ear-splitting shriek. It was just as unexpected for the guards in the room as it was for Seven and her growing gang of Rockets. Suppressing the urge to cover her ears, Seven yanked the gas mask out of her ears and slipped it on. It muffled the noise enough for her to charge forward, kicking one guard in the gut and grabbing the other by his adam’s apple. With a twist, she brought the thin, wiry man to the ground and left him there, choking on his own throat. 

She wrenched two pokeballs off his pocket, one of which recalled the noivern, and the other a vigoroth. The other officer reached for his radio, but two grunts grabbed him by the arms and slammed his head onto the floor. Blood trickled from his nose as he lay still.

The noise brought two more guards in, one from each door. The doorknob to her left twisted first, and before the door was halfway open, she wrenched the man through the doorway and leapt past him, scrambling for the second guard. That woman, a stocky, tall, officer, reached for her pistol. Just as she pulled the trigger, Seven brought one leg in a high kick, knocking her hands aside. The bullet caught a charging machoke in the left arm, and it fell to the floor with a grunt. A spray of blood spattered Seven’s uniform and mask as she leapt onto the woman, twisted around her shoulders, and brought her down to the floor, one leg trapping her right arm, and the other pinning a knee into her stomach. She groaned in pain as Seven tightened her grip, and gasped when she smacked her temple with the butt of her own pistol.

Turning back towards the previous room, she saw that the crowd of sixty grunts, led by Blacksmith, made short work of the three remaining guards. The guards lay on the floor, grunting in pain or unconscious. They were stripped of radios and shoved through the door after they released the grunts in the one room.

Seven turned back towards the room she leapt into. This room, though guarded just as heavily as the others, only had one cell, and that cell, half the size of the others, only had one occupant. A thin stubble of hair covered his scalp in uneven patches, and dark brown scabs showed where he had torn his hair out. His face, sunken and hollow even in the best of health, looked skeletal, with skin drawn tight over his huge, pointy cheekbones and chin. His sockets appeared empty unless he looked directly into the light, and eyebrows so thin they seemed nonexistent completed the image of a grinning human skull.

Mad Hax’s hands twitched when he saw Seven approach. His voice was weak and raspy, but he still sounded suave as he said, “Didn’t think the Don would let a rookie on a high profile mission like this. Where’s Fisher? I’d like a word with him.”

“Fisher isn’t here.”

Hax’s eyes narrowed. “Dekkard, then? I guess this would be a fine proving ground for him.”

Seven held back a grimace as she saw the man, slumped on the floor, bleeding out of fifty holes in his chest, holes she put there herself.

“I’m the only one.”

Mad Hax glanced around Seven, through the door she had opened, at the crowd of Grunts milling outside the door. Even in the back of the crowd, Blacksmith stood out above the rest. His eyes met Hax with a blank, level stare.

“Ten of the best tried busting in here. They made it into one of the rooms before they tripped an alarm on the door and brought every guard in this anthill down on them. Then Giovanni sends one rookie down here, and you slip in and free everyone without a single alarm going off. How’d you do it?”

Seven considered her words carefully. “I hacked what I could, and worked around what I couldn’t.”

Hax grinned even harder, and his eyes sparkled like black diamonds in his deep, shadowed sockets. “It’d take a high quality porygon to crack through this cyber security, and we lost our only upgraded version in the last raid. Giovanni may be powerful, but even he can’t get his hands on a Silph Up-Grade in six months. Let me guess, you’re using Thoth?”

Seven nodded, and Hax spat into the hole in the floor.

“A piece of garbage. That trash would take five minutes to a camera on the way down, and patrols pass that way every ten minutes.”

Seven’s tablet beeped, and the message “I heard that” blinked at her in big, bold script.

Hax sighed and leaned back, kicking one foot up onto his knee. He stared up at the ceiling and said, “I’m done beating around the bush. Are you going to kill me now, or does the Don want the pleasure himself?”

Seven felt herself tense, but the words Admin Colson coached her through came readily to mind. “Kill you? We can’t afford to, not now.”

Hax cackled, which sounded all the more deranged as it bounced off the walls and formed an echo-like interference pattern, as if his voice were a tuning fork struck on an anvil. “Don’t give me that crap. Giovanni doesn’t tolerate failure, and I fucked up big time. Just put a bullet through me so I can stop rotting in this hell hole.”

Seven waited for his laughter to die and his attention to return to her face. Then she said, “Have you heard of the White Knights?”

If Hax had eyebrows, they would’ve been bunched up against his eyes. “I think I heard the guards speak that name once or twice.”

“They’ve been causing trouble, lots of it.” Seven counted off her points on her fingers. “They’ve burned down the Golden Magikarp casino, trashed two pokemon smuggling rings, beat fourteen Grunts to death and injured six others, raided four warehouses, and stole a couple dozen pokemon from a drop zone. They’re popular with the public, and they don’t negotiate.” Seven made herself stare into those sunken eyes, each like an abyss. “Giovanni is only giving you one chance to redeem yourself, and he only does so because his back’s against the wall. It’s do or die time, Admin Hax.”

As Mad Hax puzzled over her words, Blacksmith brought over the door. Seven held it up to the walls, and Hax stared in wonder as the barrier parted around the metal.

“It’s so stupid it’s genius,” he said. “The others tried hacking them, but the security on these things is airtight. You couldn’t slip a one through those firewalls point first.”

“Come on,” Seven said, motioning through the broken window. “And mind the edges.”

Hax leapt through and rolled up onto his feet with a flourish. He got a few claps from the Grunts gathered around the door.

“Thank you, thank you,” he said, bowing to the crowd. “And for my next trick, with my lovely new assistant… what’s your name?”

“Steven,” she told him.

“Steven,” he said, rolling the name on his tongue. “Steven, would you mind telling us how you plan on getting out of here? As much as I’d like to think we’re home free, there’s a mile of concrete above us, they could drop a lake on us at any moment, and unless nobody noticed a mountain of corpses, we still have all the outside guards to deal with.”

“Outside and inside,” Seven said. “We’re not killing anyone today if we can help it.”

“Going the pacifist route? That’s no fun.” Even so, he grinned. “But it’d make for an excellent headline: incompetent police force let all the worst criminals escape. No police or civilian casualties. There’s a story to get commissioners sacked.”

The Blacksmith stepped forward, shoving Grunts aside like blades of grass. “I’m sure you have a lot to chat about, sir, but we need to get out of here.”

“Right, right,” Hax said irritably. Then his eyes darted to the pistol sticking out of his loincloth. “Give it here.” His command cut the air like a knife. Without the slightest bit of hesitation, he handed him the gun, grip pointing towards him, and the former Admin took it. Seven felt a cold knot twist in her stomach, but she forced herself to keep a calm face as she strode towards the door.

“Let’s head back,” she told them, “But first, put on as many uniforms as you can manage. It may buy us time if you’re spotted.”

“You should’ve had them doing that as you were coming here,” Hax pointed out. He tsked at her. “You won’t be an Admin anytime soon if you make sloppy mistakes like that.”

Seven frowned at him. “Would you prefer to take the command?”

Hax laughed and held a hand to his stomach. “No Steven, you dug your grave, now you can dig yourself out of it.”

Seven shrugged and turned away from him. She felt her back prickle, but she refused to turn around, in case Hax decided she was acting suspicious and shot her right then and there. She led the way up the slow, circling ramp that wound its way through the concrete fortress. She ranged out a few hundred feet ahead and signaled when she was sure there weren’t patrols waiting. Oddly enough, they went half an hour without seeing a single guard. Seven’s stomach sank as she realized that there would be only one reason for those halls to be empty. Patrols ran down as regular as clockwork, with a flurry of randomly generated patrols to make planning around them more difficult, and they ran no matter the time of day. Even lunch breaks didn’t disrupt the flow of guards through the hall.

“We have to run,” she told them. “They’re getting ready to flood the halls.”

“And drown their own men?” Blacksmith asked. “I know they want us bad, but that’s too cold even for them.”

Hax laughed maniacally and pounded his hand on the wall. “They probably assume we killed them all. Honestly, that's what I would've done. He leaned back and looked up at the ceiling. “Looks like you got us all killed. Way to go.”

The Grunts muttered anxiously as Seven quickly typed a command onto her tablet. “Stop the flooding.”

“Can’t. They kicked me out of the system. However, I have an idea. Just hold tight.”

Hax glanced over Seven’s shoulders. She felt herself flinch, but the former Admin didn’t seem to notice.

“If that porygon’s our last hope,” he said dryly, “We’re all fucked.”


	28. Chapter 28

As Thoth navigated through a labyrinth of firewalls, with anti-malware programs patrolling the circuits like minotaurs, one of the guards, the one without any pants on, lurched to his feet. He walked up to the porygon with a drunken, awkward shamble and looked over the porygon’s blocky body at the collection of screens, each displaying a different camera and audio recording.

“Hey, do you think you could set off the fire alarms?” the guard said with a lop-sided grin. “I want to see how they react.”

“That would be most unwise,” the porygon answered. “Plus, the alarms aren’t integrated into their security network. I’d have to approach each one and hack them directly.” The porygon turned and glared at the guard. “Would you get out of there? The master instructed us not to kill any humans, and that will kill him.”

“Oh, you don’t have to worry about that,” Set said. “When they start to die, it gets really hard to stay inside. It’s like…” Suddenly, the guard’s hands shot up to his mouth. He gagged, and a black bulge worked halfway up to his throat before he forced it back down. “Like that,” the guard continued. “Like eating a neon tube while it’s on.”

Thoth stared at him. “Please tell me you weren’t stupid enough to actually try it. I calculate a ninety-four percent chance that you did, but I’d like to give you the benefit of that six percent doubt.”

The guard shrugged. “It seemed like a good idea at the…” He covered his mouth again, but this time, the black bulge reached his mouth. He bent over and vomited, and black fog billowed out of his mouth. A grin split the gas, followed by two eyelids opening, and then hands reached out and flexed their skeletal, slender fingers.

“Whoops,” Set said, “Time’s up.”

“Another four seconds, and he would’ve been dead.”

Set grinned. “You worry too much. So, are we done yet? I’m getting bored.”

“Well, all the prisoners are out of their cells, but now we have to get them out of the prison.”

“Can’t we flush them down a toilet?” Set asked. “That’s how I got out of a prison once.”

Thoth turned back to the screens and said, “I’m not even going to ask.”

Then the phone ring on one of the consoles. For the first ring, Set and Thoth stared at it. Then Thoth darted towards it, dropping everything else.

“Shit,” the porygon said, “It’s a video call. I can’t fabricate a full visual conversation like this.”

Set’s eyes darted around the room and stopped at the two guards crumpled on the floor. He swooped over to the guard with his pants on, shoved himself down the man’s throat, and stood. Humans were such fragile and precarious shells. It felt like trying to balance two giant stacks of porcelain dinner plates on his tongue.

“I got it,” Set said, lumbering over, arms outstretched to catch himself on the consoles.

“It’s not going to work,” Thoth said. “We have a two percent chance of success.”

Set chuckled. “That’s two more than zero.” He sat down and stared at the impending call. “Tell me what to say, got it?”

Thoth sighed. “I invoke the destiny bond,” he said. “Do not fuck this up, got it?”

Set’s body, not the fleshy one but the nebulous gas buried in the man’s chest, went cold as a buried corpse.

“Got it,” he answered woodenly.

With that, the conversation started. Porygon whispered a greeting, and Set repeated it back at the corporal.

“What can I do for you, Corporal Mathers, sir?”

“Have you noticed anything unusual in the server room?” the stocky, bearded man asked. “There’s some unusual activity on the servers.”

“No sir, nothing that I can see.”

“Well go check!” he barked. “And put Todd on the phone, I need to have a word with him.”

Set glanced nervously at Thoth, and then quickly said, “Yes sir. I’ll go get him.”

The haunter moved the officer’s body to the corner and forced himself up the officer’s throat.

“That’s Todd,” Thoth said, gesturing towards the pants-less officer.

Set went in. The body felt colder than last time, and he already had that fluttering feeling in his gut. With a sinking feeling of dread, he realized that this body hadn’t recovered from his last time piloting it.

He didn’t bother going for the pants. His control over human hands was too clumsy, and he had no time. Clothed only in underwear below the waist, Set sat the human in the chair and faced the camera with the stillest face he could manage. The haunter felt some dismay at seeing a faint grin on Todd’s face in the upper right corner of the chat, which showed his side in miniature.

The corporal frowned as Set adjusted the seat. “What the hell happened to your pants?” 

Thoth thought of an answer, and Set stumbled through the reply. “The – the belt buckle broke, sir.” He swallowed, feeling an acrid taste at the back of his mouth, both for human and pokemon. “My pants wouldn’t stay up, so I left them.”

The corporal stroked his beard. “Well, at least you didn’t leave your station. I suppose what you did was acceptable.” Then the man’s expression hardened. “However, I cannot excuse your continued absence. Come to my office after your shift so we can have a more thorough discussion on the subject.”

“Yes – yes sir.” Set forced himself to keep his hands at his sides. Wisps of vapor crept up the man’s throat, but he had just barely enough control to keep them down. “I’ll go straight there.”

“And for god’s sake,” the corporal added, “Get a new belt first. Got it?”

“Ye–” That last word was one too many. In a rush, Set was forced up the Todd’s throat and out his mouth. The man slumped off the side of the chair, leaving Set alone, facing the corporal in a live video chat.

“Fuck,” Set said, and hit the end call button.

Thoth darted over to the computers, whirring and buzzing like an overheating toaster oven. Set, meanwhile, stared at his hands, which trembled like guttering candles.

“How long do I have left?” Set whispered. Thoth ignored him, and he repeated his question, again and again, louder each time until his voice rose to a yell the porygon couldn’t ignore.

“Be quiet please,” Thoth said, voice cracking with the sound of static. “I’m trying to do a lot at once. They’re opening the floodgate and sealing the doors to the lower levels.”

Set laughed, but he felt no joy in it. “You can’t even give me a number? Just tell me how long I have left.”

For another minute, Thoth grappled with the computer network, sliding through firewalls and tampering with software, but then the porygon turned away.

“I’m too slow,” it said with a dull, leaden voice. “The water’s already starting.”

“Well, tell them how to get out,” Set replied. 

“There’s only one door, and it’s four inches of steel. It would take Ra four hundred and sixty two hours of continuous application of heat with only fifty percent waste to melt a hole large enough for them to crawl through, and they have two.”

“Flush them down the toilets then. That’s how I got out of a prison.”

Thoth gawked at him. “You flushed yourself down a toilet? You do realize where those go, right?” The porygon shuddered, its sleek polygonal angles rippling with static.

“It’s really fun,” Set said. “I got myself locked in the same prison again just so I could do it again. Well, that time, they caught on, so it was rather… uncomfortable… when am I going to die?”

“We don’t have time for that. Water’s already running down the ramp. If we don’t seal off the vents, they’ll all drown.”

“You mean you don’t have time.” Set shrugged and grinned anxiously. “The way I see it, I’m dead anyways, so who cares?”  
“Will you be quiet please? I’m using up all my processing power to calculate potential routes of escape.”

“Just tell me how long I have left, and I’ll stop bothering you. Hell, I think I even have an idea.”

“You do? Tell me!”

“Nuh-uh!” Set said, waggling a finger in Thoth’s face. “How long do I have left? Is there a way that I can not die?”

Thoth frowned and said, “I lied.”

Set blinked. “What?”

“I lied. I tricked you into thinking you would die so you wouldn’t screw anything up like you did with the keycard. It raised the probability of this mission’s success, which had dwindled into single digits thanks to you.” Thoth paused, and its eyes went out of focus as it ran a complicated string of calculations. Then it said, “I’m sorry, and I hope you can forgive me.”

Set’s mouth curled upward, and a tremendous laugh boomed out of his chest, echoing off the metal walls like deranged ravings within a mental asylum.

“Holy shit, that has got to be the best prank I have ever seen? You used my own destiny bond to make me do whatever you wanted!”

Thoth frowned at him. “This isn’t the reaction I calculated. I thought you would be mad.”

“Mad? That was genius!” Set slapped a hand on Thoth’s back and cackled. “I thought I was good, but that was absolutely cold-blooded! I had shivers going down my spine the entire time!”

Thoth inched away warily from Set. “You don’t make any sense.” Then it shook its head. “Never mind that, what is your idea?”

Set laughed for a few moments, struggling to get his breathing under control. Then he said, “That second time, the toilet slammed shut behind me, hard. No air could get in, so the water stopped moving. I got stuck in the toilet-s u-bend.” Set grinned sheepishly and said, “I can’t swim, and those pipes tingled like these walls. I was down there a whole week until someone had to use that toilet.”

Thoth shuddered again, but then it processed Set’s suggestion. Then it had an idea, and with a thought, it pulled a thin silver disc out of its chest and pushed it towards Set.

“Get that to our master,” Thoth said. “But that’s only going to slow the water down.”

Set smiled again. “Then you will have time to open those doors, right?”

Thoth shook its head. “Not even close. I think they got a few porygon, and they’re keeping me far away from that door.”

“Then flush them.”

“Don’t be an idiot, humans can’t fit down a toilet, and they can’t stay submerged longer than a few minutes. Heck, there’s only one pipe in the whole facility big enough to fit them…”

Thoth’s eyes widened, and it darted back to the computers.

“You thought of something?” Set asked.

“Get that disc to him, now!” Thoth shouted.

“And then?”

If Thoth had a mouth, it would’ve grinned hard enough to split its face in two. Instead, it danced and spun its arms and legs in dizzying circles to show its joy. “Then we flush them down the world’s biggest toilet.”


	29. Chapter 29

Once Seven finished the long list of instructions Thoth sent to her, no mean feat since it was a solid block of letters, Set arrived with a disc in one hand. Seven called out Ra, stuck the disc on his forehead, and watched as it vanished into his skull with a flash of white light.

“You do realize that torkoal can’t swim, right?” Hax asked with a mocking smile. “Did you get some floaties for it?”

Seven walked past him and drew the eyes of all the Grunts. “Find all the vents along this hallway. My torkoal will seal them up.” First, she gave Set the pokeball carrying her magneton. The haunter grinned at her and whisked the ball away up a vent. Next, she called Horus, giving the noctowl new orders. With a hoot, Horus left his perch atop a guardhouse and flew towards the city. Then Seven sprinted down to the cells. The torkoal slid on its belly behind her, bouncing off the walls like a hockey puck. 

She frowned at the missing door and ordered Ra to seal the two doors beyond that cell. The torkoal, using the move it learned from Thoth, spat gobs of mud out of its mouth, and seared them into place with a jet of flame. Once it cooled, Seven gave the seal a quick rap. It felt solid as stone.

“Wow, genius, let’s seal ourselves in with mud. What could possibly go wrong?”

Hax examined the seal and chuckled quietly. Seven said with a snap in her voice, “Could you let me do my job?”

The former Admin raised his hands defensively. “Hey, I’m not trying to stop you. I’m just amused at how badly you botched this. Giovanni will not be pleased.”

As Hax mentioned the boss’ name, he raised one fingernail to his chin. The point of the fingernail, razor sharp like a knife blade, drew a bead of blood, but he didn’t seem to notice.

The sound of trickling water made her look back down the hall. A small stream tumbled into the room and washed up against the blocked doors. Ra gave a high-pitched whistle, like a tea kettle, as water washed against its legs.

“We don’t have time for this,” Seven said, picking up the torkoal by the edges of its shell and carrying it to the dry side of the hall. Even that far from the coals burning in its belly, she felt her fingers sting.

“If you find a bar of soap, let me know,” Hax called after her. “I’d like to be squeaky clean when I call on the devil, and they haven’t given me a bath in a month.”

As she passed BlackSmith, who covered one vent with a foot and stretched to touch a second with his hand, she felt tempted to remind him of the task she set for him, or better yet, do the deed herself. Instead, she clenched her hands and approached a vent on the opposite side of the hall. She felt that all of Hax’s snarkiness was just a front, a way of making her drop her guard. If she showed even the slightest hint of betrayal, he’d kill her and anyone else in his way with his bare hands, even Blacksmith. She needed to know her subordinates would obey her, or she would never be an Admin.

Once Ra finished sealing up the vents closest to the cells, where water already formed a puddle an inch deep, Seven walked up to the Blacksmith. He slid aside without a word, so loose and limber that she couldn’t imagine any anxiety or anger in his bulky frame.

As Ra worked, the water picked up pace. At some vents, she had to have bundles of clothes piled up so Ra wouldn’t drown in the rushing stream. Water rose towards them, inch by inch, but once they were three quarters of the way up the ramp, she noticed a drop in the water pressure at her feet. Once the last vent was sealed up, the water gurgled fitfully for another minute before the hall fell silent, save for the splashing of Grunts wading in the deeper end of the hall. Seven called Ra back to his pokeball and stared up, towards their only escape.

“You do realize that we’ll run out of oxygen pretty quick, right?” Hax asked with a smooth, innocent smile on his face. “It’s less painful than drowning, I suppose, but there are easier ways to die.”

Seven ignored him and typed into the tablet on her arm. “Vents are sealed.”

“Greet,” came a hasty response. “Hold tights, am bus getting pipes switched.”

An edited message, with the spelling corrected, followed it a second later, but it did nothing to ease the sudden stir of anxiety, like hornets buzzing in her chest, at the thought that her life depended on a malfunctioning porygon. However, she forced the illusion masking her face to maintain perfect composure.

Hax still sensed her unease. “I’d say that this hare-brained plan of Steven’s has run full course,” he said to the Grunts, gesturing towards the lake threatening to swallow them all. His voice echoed over the water’s surface and made it ripple. “Giovanni trusted him to do his job, and he failed. Therefore, it falls upon me, Admin Hax of Team Rocket, to punish him.”

With a flourish, he drew Blacksmith’s pistol from his loincloth and pointed it at her. Before she could react, he pulled the trigger, and the gun clicked softly. Hax only had time to give the faulty gun a perplexed stare before a shard of fiberglass split his spinal cord in two. A tiny shard, shining red with Hax’s blood, jutted out from his belly button. With a gurgle, Hax dropped to the floor and clutched at the glass sticking out of his back.

Blacksmith wiped the blood off his hands on his loincloth and circled around Hax, pressing his back against the wall as he passed the dying Admin.

“Well done,” Seven told Blacksmith as he came within strangling distance of her.

He nodded slowly and said, “Word of advice, I follow Giovanni’s orders, not yours. Forget that, and you might end up like him,” he said, jerking his head at Hax’s corpse. He had died giving Seven the middle finger and had it propped against his chin so it would stay upright even in death.

“Noted.” She looked down at her tablet, and to her relief, the porygon said that everything was ready.

“Time to go up,” Seven told the Rockets. “The plan is to escape out the pipes pumping water into the prison. Once we’re out, a small team will head for home and return with a full convoy. Any questions?”

Silence answered her. With a nod, Seven led the way up the hall, to the source of the flood. Where there was once a bare concrete wall, two doors swung out, revealing a gaping black cavern large enough for Blacksmith to crawl through. Sloshing sounds echoed out of it, along with a high-pitched, keening wail of a motor losing the fight against air pressure. Robbed of its means of displacing air, the motor lacked the strength to compress the chamber’s air any further than atmospheric pressure, and therefore ceased to push water into the prison.

Her tablet vibrated, with an especially long message from Thoth, which read, “The city used to rely on an underground sewer treatment facility. It had an especially large tank, for preventing floods from overwhelming their system. However, as the population rose, the old system couldn’t keep up. They built a new sewer system, but they connected it to the old one so they could divert excess waste to the old system. Once the new system was perfected, they abandoned the old one, and it became the emergency flood system used by Stonebough Prison.

However, the connection between the two systems remain. By using the emergency systems in reverse, I can divert the excess water in the old sewer into the new one, letting you escape through the old sewers. Tell Hax that I’m not a piece of garbage, will you? Oh wait, he’s dead.”

What drew her attention next, however, was a metal grate in front of the hole, made of criss-crossing metal bars half an inch thick. The holes were just big enough for Seven to squeeze a fist through.

“You didn’t mention a grate,” Seven told the porygon, and accompanied it with a picture. She refrained from typing ‘you piece of garbage’ as an afterthought.

“That wasn’t in the schematics,” Thoth said. “Do you see any means of prying the bars free?”

Seven called Blacksmith over and had him inspect the bars. “Despite my name,” the man said without a smile, “I’m no expert on metal.” He gave a bar an experimental tug. “However, I can tell you this shit’s going nowhere without some extra muscle.”

She called out Ra, but the torkoal, already exhausted from sealing up the vents, could do little more than dry the bars. The thought of smashing through the bars herself came to her, but she angrily shoved it aside.

“Have Set bring back the magneton,” Seven told Thoth.

“It’s not optimal,” Thoth replied, “And Set isn’t back yet, but I’ll have it done.”

As Seven finished reading this, she heard a gurgle. Water splashed through the grate, soaking her feet. A steady trickle ran from the base of the pipe.

“I think one of the seals broke,” Seven told the porygon.

“Then I’m going to need the magneton,” Thoth said. “I was planning on escaping first and then accessing the sewer’s computers, but if the first seal broke, it’s only a matter of time before the cells get flooded and the officers escape, telling those upstairs that the flood system isn’t working. I can access it from here, but once they figure out what’s happening, I’ll be under attack, and they’ll open the doors and come after you.” That message was followed by another. “I’m sorry. Either way, you’ll be cornered.”

Seven felt her heart sink as she weighed her options: arrest, and imprisonment for the rest of her life unless she managed another escape, or freedom, at the cost of her humanity. Even if she could maintain her illusion, the men would look in askance at the twig-like figure punching through metal even Blacksmith couldn’t bend, but power that strong coursing through her hands would tear her fragile illusion like wet toilet paper.

But then, she thought of a simple, elegant solution.

“I can break the pipes,” she told Thoth. “Get everything ready for our escape.” 

Then she looked at the Rockets milling before her. “Everyone,” she said, loud enough for them to hear, “I order you all to turn around. Do not look this way until I tell you to.” She paused, and added, “I am about to use something that Giovanni wishes to keep secret.”

That convinced them. As one, they all turned their backs to her and placed their hands over their eyes, even Blacksmith.

Satisfied, Seven dispelled her illusion and focused on her hand, making it throb with her power. When it felt ready to explode like a grenade, she punched at the grate. The bars bent like string cheese before her hand even touched them. The squeal of dented metal rang through the hall and sent a shiver through some of the Grunts.

Wiping sweat out of her eyes, she punched again. And again. Over, and over, making the entrance cave in on itself, until finally, one of the bars wrenched loose. More followed with each punch. Once the opening was clear, she donned her illusion, which felt so much heavier from her fatigue. She craned her head to hear down the pipes. The pump still whirred, but it no longer screeched and groaned with pent-up water. 

“You may turn around now.”

When those Rockets turned, and she with them, they all saw freedom, hidden beyond the cringing, broken-toothed cavern. Without another word, Seven was the first through, flashlight in hand lighting the damp, echoing path, and a flood of Rockets followed close behind her.


	30. Chapter 30

Thoth stared at Steven’s last message in confusion. Its processors worked furiously to unveil every potential meaning behind those words. “I can break the pipes.” Did he have a tool that the porygon didn’t know about? Or was he making sure Thoth got away despite his capture? Either way, Thoth knew the only path to take involved fighting his way out.

“We must get to the west gate,” Thoth told Set and the magneton. “There, Horus can disable the guard towers, and we can fly right over the walls. Set chuckled. The magneton sent a faint radio signal that Thoth took for an affirmation.

“Magneton, you’ll stay front and center. Nonlethal attacks only. Set, cover the rear. Focus on causing confusion. I’ll concentrate on giving orders and finding the way out. Let’s go.”

With a powerful discharge, Thoth fried every computer in the room, reducing them to hunks of molten plastic and metal. The magneton drank the excess power and flung the door open. A cop, planting a breaching charge on the door, got pinned to the wall. Luckily for him, he hadn’t started its countdown. The magneton left him there as it flew into the hall. A crackle of electricity shot from its magnets and coursed down the hall, leaping from man to pokemon. Two dozen fell to the ground, arms twitching, but a sandslash darted forward, claws reaching for magneton’s eyes. Set floated in front of it and sent a whirling rainbow sphere from his hands. When it hit the sandslash’s eyes, it stopped and clawed at the air around it.

A fireball soared through the hall, flying straight towards the magneton. Thoth flew in front of it and surrounded itself with a glowing blue barrier. The fire slammed against it and went out.

As they raced away from pursuit down the other hall, Thoth messaged Steven again. “Please tell Horus to hold position and disable the nearest guard towers at my signal.”

“Alright.” The reply came quickly. “We’re moving down the pipes. It’s a straight shot to the exit point, right?”

Thoth wrenched some processing power away from battle analysis for a moment to review Steven’s situation. Ra couldn’t break them. Maybe they forced one of the officer’s pokemon to help them? Police pokemon are well-trained, taking orders only from their trainer. Maybe if they were confused… no, Set’s with me. How did he do it? Is he lying to me?

A fist flying through Thoth’s peripheral vision snapped him back to reality. With a small discharge, he made the attacker, a scrafty, tumble to the floor. The porygon darted forward just in time to block a crackle of purple thunder. Magneton fired back with a solid sphere of gray light, but the gardevoir teleported away. Instead, the attack slammed into an ursaring and knocked it unconscious.

While they raced through an empty hallway, Thoth answered Steven’s question. The porygon craved information about Steven’s situation, but the fight ahead demanded all its attention. An absol lunged from the shadows, swiping at Set, but the magneton swatted it out of the air with a crackling magnet. It fell with a sharp yelp and didn’t move. Blood trickled from its broken horn. 

Farther ahead, Set possessed one of the officers and had their graveler explode. Thoth grimaced as four officers were knocked back by the blast, but a quick scan told it that they would live. In the same officer’s body, Set threw more pokeballs to the floor. A shiftry blew officers and pokemon down the hallway, while a glalie froze the ground beneath their feet.

When Set got vomited out by the officer, the woman reacted quickly, setting her two pokemon on them. Overclocking his processors, Thoth taught himself signal beam while it ordered magneton to incapacitate the glalie with flash cannon. Before the pokemon could react to their new orders, they fell to the calculated attack, and Set put the woman to sleep.

Thoth ran another calculation. At the rate they were heading west, they would arrive at the walls in ten minutes. As they rounded a corner, a wall of officers, wielding riot shields and semi-automatic pistols, barred the way. Better make that fifteen. He decided to contact Horus anyway, giving the order to disable the western guard towers. By the time he looked back, the shield wall had fallen apart, scattered by two confused officers raving about crobat and ariados attacking from above. One officer was down with a bullet through the leg. Blood seeped through his legs, but it missed his femoral artery. Another took a bullet in the shoulder, and despite the wound, fought to pin the two raving officers to the floor.

While they were distracted, Thoth and the others floated over them. The magneton crippled them with a thunder wave before it left. Set cackled loudly as they moved through another empty hall.

“I haven’t had this much fun since the bank robbery!” he shouted.

“Be quiet,” Thoth hissed at him. “We’re not out yet.”

“Don’t be such a spoilsport, Thoth.” Set’s grin widened, and his white eyes sparkled like diamonds. “They’re never going to catch us!”

As the words left his mouth, a huge scythe, glowing with purple miasma, swiped at Set. The blade passed through him, leaving a jagged black tear. On impulse, Thoth fried everything in the darkness of the adjoining hallway with a max-volt discharge. A scyther hit the floor like a sack of grain. A roserade’s cry of pain echoed down the hall, and Thoth fired at it with a signal beam.

Set floated in the air, severed in two pieces that drifted away from each other. As Thoth watched, flakes peeled off and disappeared. The porygon scanned its databases, hunting for any technique that might save Set’s life. Then, it found a move. Pain split. 

Throwing all his processing power at the download to hasten it by a few seconds, Thoth stopped itself from thinking of the odds it would work. Once it learned the move, Thoth used it. Its body, composed of electrical signals suspended in plasma, rippled as a jolt of pain shot through its delicate circuits. Meanwhile, the two severed halves pulled themselves together. Eyes and a mouth emerged from the mass in odd places, making his smile impossibly grotesque.

“Wow, I thought I was really gone there,” Set said with a nervous chuckle. “Neat trick.”

Thoth’s own circuitry was in complete disarray. The extremities, housing many of Thoth’s spare processors, were a blue smear in the air, and the red core had cracks running through it. Though damaged, Thoth had enough power left to download another move. Activating the program, the porygon breathed a sigh of relief as a green glow reassembled its peripheral body components and knitted its core back together.

Meanwhile Set had grabbed his eyeballs and stuck them back in their proper place. Adjusting his smile like a human would adjust a coat hangar, Set scrunched up his face into a wobbly smile.

“Mind doing that again? I still feel a bit torn up inside.”

Thoth complied. This time, the burden to his systems was far less, and the damage faded even more quickly. Set flexed his hands, and eerie blue flames flickered out from between its fingers.

“Uh, thanks, I guess.” He chuckled softly and went to help the magneton. It had nicks and dings in its metal plating, and one of its magnets hung limply at its side. Thoth healed it and blocked a boulder before it could scuff the magneton’s freshly buffed body.

As it recovered again, Thoth’s thoughts drifted back to Steven. It asked for a status report, and a few seconds later, Steven told him they were still crawling. Were they keeping the police from opening the doors and dealing with the crowd of Rockets trapped in the lower prison? Or were they really free? Neither explanation made any sense to the porygon. It felt as though he was missing a piece of the puzzle. Mulling it over, Thoth realized the “piece” was the way out. Before it could stop to think, Thoth asked Steven how he broke the bars.

A long silence followed. Thoth jerked his attention back to the fight long enough to paralyze a flareon and heal Set’s charred hands. There still wasn’t a reply when Thoth got wrapped by a vine. Magneton shocked the tangela, which caused electricity to ripple through Thoth, but it also freed the porygon. As it recovered, the response finally appeared.

And it read, “Secret by Giovanni’s order.”

So he did break the bars. And yet, the doubt remained. Perhaps he was still keeping up the charade? But why? He had nothing to gain by letting the four of them escape, and had his freedom to lose. And what would be so important that it would be kept secret by Giovanni’s order? Was it some sixth pokemon Steven had? It had to be.

Satisfied with its conclusion, Thoth consulted the map. They were approaching a set of service doors leading to the western wall. Two officers, a nidoking, and a hariyama blocked the way out. Magneton fried the hariyama, Set put the nidoking to sleep, and Thoth disabled the two officers with a small discharge to their chests.

When they made it outside, Thoth was dismayed to find that the guard were still standing in their posts, attentively scanning the grounds. But Horus was perched in the nearest tower, looking down at them. The guards, though looking, never saw them.

Bullets followed them over the wall, dinging off of magneton’s sturdy body and Thoth’s shield, and passing through Set’s gaseous body. Horus dove down the other side of the wall. Thoth and the others followed, and together, they wound their way through the trees, losing the pursuing police.  
Once the clatter and clamp of police boots faded to silence, Thoth led them to the sewer’s emergency exit, in a squalid part of the city populated by low-rent apartment complexes, chain restaurants with broken windows, and rusty warehouses. The exit was blocked by a solid metal door. One tug from magneton tore it free from its rusty lock and hinges. Musty air wafted from the exposed room like a freshly opened grave, and the sensory data made Thoth’s programming prickle. With a grimace, Thoth led the way down. Cracked pipes, rusted, dry, and dusty from decades of idleness, lined every wall and the ceiling. 

At the far end of the hall, a round hatch, marked “Emergency Exit,” sat between a dented boiler and a fire extinguisher. Magneton latched onto the hatch’s wheel. Chips of red paint drifted from the wheel as it turned. Squeak by rusty squeak, the wheel crept in a slow circle, until, at last, the hatch swung open.

Light shone. With a wet, squelching plop, Steven Sun tumbled out of the sewer. He and a hundred grunts crawled through five hundred yards of shit that Thoth shuddered to imagine. Five football fields. Just short of half a mile. He and a hundred grunts, drenched in filth that coated abandoned pipes for decades, cheered as old musty air, clean as a mountaintop gale compared to the sewer stench, filled their lungs.

As Thoth was called back into its pokeball, one last thought flickered through his mind. How the hell had he done it?


	31. Chapter 31

Bruno never felt so small or so defenseless as when he sat in the police headquarters’ meeting room. Commissioner Mason paced across the room behind the podium, fuming under his breath. The projector cast an image of a newspaper onto the wall. It read: “Stonebough Broken: All the Shit Pours Out.”

The Commissioner stopped in his tracks and turned towards the screen. On the podium was a small stack of newspapers. Mason grabbed a handful, tore it up, and threw the shreds at a garbage can. Most of them settled onto the floor.

“I swear to god,” Commissioner Mason grumbled, “If I had a hundred bucks for every sewer-related pun in the goddamn news today, I could retire right now. I could be on some vacation island drinking pina coladas right now, but instead, I have to deal with this shit.” He chuckled dryly. “Now the papers have me doing it too.”

The Commissioner took a deep breath, and his expression softened. “I don’t blame any of you for this. We threw everything we had at that prison, and they still got out.” He picked up another newspaper and held it up. “Of course, telling the press that isn’t going to make the public happy.”

He pressed a button on the remote, and the article was replaced by a grainy photo of the prison. A fuzzy black cloud loomed on the southern half, punctuated by the occasional red R. Further up, a lone man stood before a sewer grate. Bruno could make out a blob of brown hair.

“Sorry about the resolution,” Mason said. “Frickin’ powerpoint won’t let me use the raw video clip. Hold on a second.”

He opened up a video player on his laptop. On screen, it showed the man, this time with his brown eyes distinct on his plain, clean-shaven face, speaking to the mass of Rockets standing before him. All the Rockets faced the camera, the man turned around, and then the video turned grainy again. White flashes obscured the camera, but for a brief moment, so fast that the image vanished before he could blink, he saw Serena, with long locks of violet and black hair spilling out over the rocket uniform.

Bruno schooled himself to calmness while the rest of the room muttered. Mason held up a hand, a signal for silence, and cleared his throat. “We don’t know why the footage cuts out like that, but at least we got a clear image of the man’s face. Unfortunately, there isn’t a single match.” He rewound the tape and paused it just before it cuts out. “Our porygon have cross-referenced his face with every single photograph we have on file, every single driver’s license and trainer identification, passports and criminal records, everything. We have no idea who the hell this guy is, where he came from, or why he showed up out of nowhere. What we do know is, that guy stormed Stonebough alone.” He put extra emphasis on that word. “Alone, he slipped past a double perimeter of guards, disabled the cameras, slipped past every patrol on the way down to the dungeons, knocked out every single guard posted in the cells before they knew what the hell was happening, and escaped through the fucking sewer trap that’s supposed to drown them all.”

The Commissioner crushed a newspaper in his fist. His grip tightened as he turned back to the police.

“Here’s what we’re going to do,” he said with a calm, stiff voice like cold iron. “First, we’re going to put more boots on the streets. I know you’re all exhausted from watching the prison, but we’re in crisis mode. The people have to know we’re taking this seriously. Also, we’re going to throw everything at catching this son of a bitch.” Mason grimaced and crumpled the paper into a tight ball. “The cheeky bastard didn’t kill a single cop. Had he done it, I could’ve had him executed and put all this behind us… damn it.” Then he stopped himself and turned back to the officers and gave them a weak smile. “Please forgive me. I couldn’t be happier that none of you died during that fiasco. I’m just… on edge.”

Bruno felt the room spinning around him. His mind raced as he compared blurry image, wearing the Rocket uniform, with the stunning pokemon he met on the rooftop. As much as he wanted to deny it, there was no question. That was Serena. But he couldn’t figure out why. Why would a pokemon work for Team Rocket? Even more puzzling, how could they let a pokemon wear their uniform and act like a human? She even looked human, before the cameras started blurring.

His mind latched onto that outlet. The camera. Maybe it was a trick of the camera, edited to make it look like something else. But why her? Why was she there?

Peter gave him a gentle nudge on his shoulder. Looking up, Bruno saw that the room was already emptying. He rose from his seat, but the Commissioner told them to stay. Reluctantly, Bruno stood at attention and waited for the other officers to file out.

“Peter, Bruno, I’m really sorry to ask this of you,” the Commissioner said. “I know I’ve been working you two to the bone, but it can’t be helped now. You’re the fastest way to find this son of a bitch.”

Bruno felt his stomach twisting itself in knots. He could tell them what he knew and lead them straight to her. He might even lead them straight to a Rocket base. However, he could also hurt her by following her. What if they thought she betrayed them, or what if they forced her to attack the police?

Before he made up his mind, a powerful presence entered his senses, one that chilled him to the bone. Seconds later, the door swung open. The Commissioner opened his mouth to admonish the intruder, but his stern finger-point turned into a low bow at the elderly figure entering the room. He was shaved bald, exposing his wrinkled forehead, but he had a long white beard that fell to his waist.

Behind him was a lucario, far older and more powerful than Bruno, an Elder among his kind. Streaks of gray flecked his fur, and his eyes were pale enough to be called pink. He was also four inches taller than Bruno, and broader in the shoulders.

“Elder Bayron,” Bruno said with a stiff bow. “What brings you to the city?”

“You,” the Elder gruffly replied. “I can sense your imbalance from the Temples. It’s time you left the city.”

As Elder Bayron spoke in his tongue, the elderly man translated. Mason grimaced.

“You can’t take him away now! We’re in a crisis here!”

“You will have a far greater crisis if this one remains for much longer. He has lost his balance. After a few years of meditation, he will be fit to return, but until then, he must leave.”

“A few years!” Mason roared. “I don’t have a few years! I don’t even have a few days! I need a lucario here, or the city’s going to fall into chaos. Absolute chaos. The White Knights are planning their next move, and the Rockets just broke out of Stonebough. There is no time to waste!”

Elder Bayron slammed his fist on a table hard enough to crack the wood. “I will not argue with you. Bruno must leave. Today.”

Commissioner Mason took a deep breath. “Fine. Take him. But in return, get another lucario here within the hour.”

“Not possible. You know our kind don’t fare well in cities.”

Mason studied them for a moment. Then he reached into his jacket and pulled out a glowing blue sphere. Bruno averted his gaze away from it, straining against its seductive pull. Bayron’s arm crept a few inches forward before he returned it to his side.

“Catch the man I’m after, and you can have this,” Mason said.

“You’re really desperate enough to part with it?” Bayron asked. “And for so low a price?”

Mason returned the sphere to his coat. Bruno sighed with relief when the tug on his aura disappeared. 

“This city’s fucked. There’s a war brewing, and just the aftermath of it is going to leave more police casualties and public upheaval than anything in this city’s history. Just look what happened already. You can feel this city’s unrest, can’t you?” Mason gestured at the ruffled stack of newspapers. “They’re terrified, and there is nothing worse for society than a bunch of terrified citizens fed up with their government. If a glowing hunk of rock I can’t use anyways will stop that, then I consider it a bargain.”

Bayron stared at Mason, as if seeing the stone through his coat. Then he said, “You make a tempting offer, but my answer must remain the same. No panic humans can make can ever compare to what we’re capable of. For your sake, we must leave.”

Mason glared at the Elder. “Fine. Just know that I won’t offer it for nearly as cheap next time I need help.”

As the Elder and his human companion left, Bruno dashed after them. Elder Bayron turned and frowned at him.

“Are you that eager to leave?” Then his brow furrowed, and his voice went flat. “Or do you really think you should stay here?”

Bruno swallowed. His throat itched for a cup of water, but he made himself speak. “I think I already know where to find the one they want.”

Bayron raised an eyebrow at him. “Go on.”

Bruno hesitated for a moment. Bayron’s pale pink eyes burrowed into his head and saw the roiling tempest of aura within. He could feel Bayron’s gaze, feel Bayron’s hackles rise as he studied the aura, and feel the beating of his own heart as he struggled to find words. Then he told him everything about Serena.

Bayron listened impassively. His eyes slid back and forth as Bruno’s aura whipped and fluttered like a flag caught in a gale. Once the tale was told, Bayron took a step closer, pressed his nose into the hair on Bruno’s forehead, and inhaled deeply.

“Hmm, I thought so,” he said as he backed away. Bruno caught a hint of a smile on his face. “So that’s what got you unstable, eh?” Bayron ran his fingers over the spike on his chest and tapped the tip while he thought. Then he let out a breath. “Alright, I’ll let you stay.” Before Bruno could get too excited, he added, “You have two days. Offer Serena asylum at the Temple. There, even Team Rocket couldn’t reach her, not if they broke their whole strength on our gates. If she accepts your offer, you will remain at the Temple until further notice.” A sparkle lit up Bayron’s eyes, and he chuckled. “You’ll have plenty of time to get to know her.” Bruno flushed, but Bayron’s smile vanished, and his voice turned hard as stone. “But if she refuses, you are to return immediately. Not after two days, immediately. Do you understand?”

Bruno felt his chest swell up with confidence. He grinned and said, “There’s no way she’d turn down that offer.”

Bayron’s voice cracked like a whip. “Do you understand?”

Bruno flinched and quickly said, “Yes Elder.”

“Good.” Bayron turned to leave, but he stopped. “Be careful around her,” he called over his shoulder. “If her soul is really as powerful as you say, then she could… she could…”

“Could what?”

The Elder chewed his lip. “Just be careful around her, and follow my instructions to the letter. Also, keep Peter close. Whatever you do, don’t leave his side, even for a second.”

“I won’t,” Bruno said quickly. “Have a safe journey back to the Temple.”

Once he was sure the Elder was out of earshot, Bruno cheered, ran back inside, and told Peter that they could stay. He left Serena out of his story.


	32. Chapter 32

The sleek, airy uniform of an Admin, with a gold-lined R glittering on her right shoulder, felt like a second skin. With it on, she could almost forget about the fur underneath.

Her living quarters, which had once belonged to Hax, had been refurbished at her request. Taking cues from Giovanni, Seven had the room lined with tall, leafy ferns. However, she kept them short, so the bright lights overhead would shine directly on her. The original flooring, a dull black wood, had clacked against her claws every time she walked barefoot, so she had it replaced with a lush brown carpet.

The main room had her desk, made of lily white wood that once matched the floor, a plush leather chair that molded itself to her body, and a similar but smaller seat for guests. Behind her desk, another door led directly to her bedroom, furnished with a similar desk-seat combination and a soft, plush bed. She kept a night light next to the door, an LED that wouldn’t burn out for a hundred years.

From the computer on her desk, Seven examined a heavy digital stack of reports and forms, ranging from expense reports of her new army of Grunts to mission debriefs regarding the latest raid on White Knight facilities. She leaned back in her chair, smiling at the bold, black numbers showing surplus cash income from all the stolen assets of a weapons warehouse.

A knock came at the door. From her computer, Seven saw Admin Fisher standing outside her door, leaning against the opposite wall and looking up at the camera. With the press of a button, her door opened, and Fisher entered.

He looked around. “I see you’ve redecorated. Good. I always hated that wood, damn stuff wouldn’t stop squeaking. He left it in so nobody could sneak up on him.”

Seven wondered how much guile Fisher concealed beneath his headstrong personality. She sat up and asked, “What did you come here for.”

Fisher gave her a small smile. “I thought I’d check up on the new Admin. The first week can be rough.”

“All my operations have been successful,” Seven said warily, “And I have finished reorganizing all the Rockets I rescued into tactical groups and outfitting them with the equipment I stole.”

“Sounds like you have everything under control, then?” he asked. His eyes drilled into hers, and they carried a hint of the smile on his face.

“Yes, definitely,” Seven said.

“Good! Then you have time to take off, don’t you? I need a drinking buddy, and someone has to show you how Admins celebrate.”

Fisher held his hand out. Seven felt a strong temptation to take it, to accept the gesture of acceptance, but his approach felt too coy for her tastes.

“I would prefer not to,” she said, edging back in her seat. “I may have no problems on hand, but I still have duties to attend to.”

“You don’t have anything to do yet,” Fisher said with a wry smile. “Not until the war with the WK gets cooking. Come on, it’ll be good for you.” He leaned close and made his voice a hoarse whisper. “Good practice at pretending to be human.”

“I don’t need any practice,” Seven said with a scowl, “But I guess I’ll go.”

“Great! I know a great bar, and it’s no fun drinking alone.” He eyed the empty belt at her waist. “Bring some weapons. It’s a rough neighborhood, and the fights are part of the fun.”

The bar was called Mechanical Dreams, and it had a bright yellow neon mareep bounding over the name, flashing in ionized green sparks. The bar was flanked by alleys obscured by shadow. Hidden figures loitered in the darkness and glared at the two Admins as they passed.

Inside, the bar was packed with rugged men and even tougher women, nursing beers and chatting with their table cliques while warily eyeing the other patrons. Gazes turned away from Fisher as he casually strode straight for the bar. They took two seats near the middle, which was deserted in favor of the close-walled corners.

“The usual, Fish?” the bartender called, with a tall mug of frothy ale in one hand. At a nod from Fisher, the bartender set it down and turned towards Seven. “And for you, sir?”

“What he’s having,” Seven said with practiced calm. She took a sip of the ale, fearing a powerful, bitter flavor. While it wasn’t appetizing, Seven found she could swallow it without a grimace. Before she realized it, the mug she tipped over her mouth was significantly lighter, and her head thrummed with a pleasant, light buzz.

Without warning, her illusion flickered. She frowned into her empty mug and focused on honing that image. The mild intoxication made using her power feel like wading through a knee-high swamp, with mud clinging at her feet and a chill creeping over her skin.

Fisher caught her staring into the mug and asked, “Want another?”

“I better not. I need to concentrate.”

A flicker of unease flashed across Fisher’s eyes. “If you need to leave, just say so. Don’t risk getting exposed.”

“I’ll be fine,” Seven said hastily. “Just a bit of air, that’s what I need. I’ll be right back.”

Seven walked out of the bar and took a deep breath of the balmy night air. The smell of sweat and beer hung like wet rags over her mouth. She examined the alleyway, and after a glance at the well-lit streets, walked into the darkness. People edged away from her. She kept a wary eye on them, occasionally catching the glint of steel in the faint lamplight from the streets, and had her own hand on a knife at her waist. 

A pair of scuffling boots raced towards her, but the moment she flashed her blade, the steps twisted and vanished up a wall. The brick walls around her were pitted. Though they made easy handholds, Seven remained on the ground, where the shadows hid her. Her form wavered like a dying candle, but in the dim light, her facsimile of humanity held just enough realism to prevent second glances.

The deeper into the alleyways went, the fewer faces she saw, and the darker the alleyways became. The scalpels loomed around her, but the faint pinpricks of starry light kept them away. Her head pounded, and it took all her concentration to keep her feet moving forward without breaking her disguise. Eventually, she came across a block of broken buildings, far south of the bar, where wood rotted away and the streets crumbled to gravel. Caved-in walls formed a rough lean-to. After checking that no one was inside and that the walls would hold, Seven crawled inside, let her disguise fall, and rubbed her aching temples. Her tongue felt bloated, and buzzing filled her ears.

After five minutes, Seven’s headache receded. Use of her power came clumsily, but she could hold a proper illusion. She thought about leaving, and was about to stand when a shadow filled the only exit. Seven reached for her knife and flipped the blade open.

A familiar, unintelligible voice growled at her. Seven peered closer, and her throat dried up when she recognized the lucario. He held up a piece of paper, but Seven couldn’t see the ink on the paper. She took a flashlight out of her hair. Bruno squinted in the harsh beam of light while Seven read the message, “May I come in?”

“Go ahead,” Seven said reluctantly. She stealthily hid her blade, hoping that the pokemon didn’t notice in the dim light.

Bruno sat across from her, hunching beneath the leaning wall, and wrote another message. For a whole three minutes, he scratched his head and scratched out lines of writing, tearing out the messy pages and crumpling them up each time he ran out of space. Then, writing on the front and back of a single page, he poured out a single, frantic note. The words were smudged in places, but what Seven could read made her breath catch in her throat.

“I know you are being forced to work for Team Rocket, and I can help you. I want to help you. So please, I’m asking you to trust me. There’s a place with others like me, a place where Team Rocket could never approach even if they wanted to. There’s many more lucario, and each one can sense a person’s aura like I can. If anyone wanted to hurt you, they’d never make it to the front gates.”

She flipped the note over with trembling hands. It went, “I know this is a lot to take in at once, and I’m sorry I can’t give you more time to think it over. The Elder told me I have to leave in thirty-six hours, and I can’t refuse him. I can give you until tomorrow night. Meet me back here, at the same time, and I can get you out of the city, to a place where you will no longer have to be their slave. A place where you can be yourself.”

Seven re-read the message, mulling over the implications of more lucario, and more powerful lucario. Then she handed it back to him.

“I will be back, if I can. But you better go, they’ll start to wonder if I’m gone too long.”

That was all the encouragement Bruno needed to leave. Once he was gone, Seven prowled the area, searching for any sign of Grunts. They were alone.

As she walked back to the bar, she wondered wildly about the offer, her brain darting from thought to thought like a dragonfly. She hadn’t seriously considered leaving Team Rocket, not after watching Seamus get his brain matter sprayed across a plastic tarp, and even then, she had nowhere else to go. Now, there was this Temple, a sanctuary from the dangerous, duplicitous world she inhabited.

At the thought of having a home where she would no longer have to hide, she almost lost her grip on her illusion. But then, the final words of that message came back to her. A place where she could be herself. He saw her as a pokemon. They all would. 

She thought about her new office at Rocket Headquarters, the sleek uniform that waited for her on her bed, the computer that gave her unlimited digital freedom, the small army of Grunts that would heel like dogs at the snap of her fingers. The nightlight, her eternal flame in the darkness, glowed in her mind.

The Mechanical Dreams came into view. Jaw set, Seven walked up to Admin Fisher, tapped him on the shoulder, and said, “I need to have a word with Giovanni. The sooner, the better.”

He turned towards her and said with a small laugh, “Are you sure we don’t have time for one more?” But his eyes were sharp as daggers, ready to stab into the chest of the nearest man.

Seven met the steely stare and said, “There’s work to be done.”


	33. Chapter 33

A small, black-clad team of elite officers gathered in the back lot of the police station. Each man was accompanied by a full team of pokemon, from agile and quiet sceptile to bulky and powerful poliwrath, and they all, pokemon and humans alike, helped load a small armory into the beaten, nondescript vehicles gathering rust in the open lot.

Bruno felt his stomach flutter as he loaded an MK-27 automatic assault rifle into the back seat of Peter’s dingy brown car. They both agreed that taking the police car to the pick-up zone would be sheer stupidity, but Peter insisted on having a full armory installed in his dented back trunk, with grenades in the cup holders, extra ammo clips in the glove compartments, pistols in the side of every door, and Reason in the back pocket of Peter’s pants.

Everyone listened to Reason, including Rockets. It helped that Reason was a 1200 pound hunk of metal that could turn brains into milkshakes with a flick of its thoughts. Commissioner Mason had been extremely reluctant to let go of Reason, it being the police’s chief source of intelligence, but the lure of drawing out the mystery Admin gave Mason enough reason to give Peter Reason. The Commissioner was so fond of making puns around the metagross’ name that the humor spread through the police force.

“There’s reason enough to bring Reason,” Peter told Bruno as they loaded a bazooka under the back seat. “And if Serena finds it scary to see Reason, I’m sure we can get her to see reason.” He gave Bruno a wide smile. Peter’s soul glowed like a light bulb, a steady flow of light that never wavered and gave off a gentle heat. His gentle soul was completely at odds with his rugged sleeveless brown jacket, torn jeans, soot-smeared face, and a temporary feraligator tattoo baring its fangs on Peter’s right bicep.

Bruno wrote “Please don’t make jokes at a time like this,” and had Peter read it.

For his part, Bruno went with only a belt to carry his notebook. He felt strangely cold and exposed without a police vest to keep the wind from whipping through his fur.

“You’re right, I’m sorry.” He looked around at the other squad cars in the lot, all of them loading up their own miniature arsenal. “You just seemed tense. Relax. We’ve got special ops behind us. We just need to get her to the police escort, sneak around or fend off anything the Rockets throw at us, and get her to the lucario waiting at the edge of town. Serena can tell us how to catch the new Admin, the lucario get their stone, and she gets the protection she needs.” Peter put a hand on Bruno’s shoulder. “I know you’re nervous, but we’re throwing everything we got at this operation. We got this.”

Bruno smiled uneasily at him and wrote another note. Peter read it and said, “Exactly. Odds are they won’t even know we’re coming. And if they do, well, we’ll be ready for them.”

“But what if she’s not there? What if they catch her?” Bruno’s next note read.

“Stop worrying about the what-ifs and do your job. That’s all we can do.” Peter gave him a concerned frown. “I’m starting to think the Elder is right. It might be wiser for you to sit this mission out. You’re too strung up, and we can’t afford to make any mistakes.”

Bruno wavered as he reflected on his inner turmoil. His limbs shook, and clenching his fists was all that kept him from trembling openly. His tongue felt dry and rough as sandpaper. And yet, the desire to find Serena burned in him like a hot coal that refused to burn out no matter how cold and clammy his fur felt.

“I’m the only one that can sense her presence,” Bruno argued. “If she isn’t there, we won’t waste any time finding her. Plus, I’ll know if we’re walking in an ambush.”

Peter grimaced. “You have a point. Alright, get in, it’s time to go.”

Bruno glanced around. All the other cars were on and rumbling out of the lot. A lycanroc waved at him from out of a car window before it veered out of sight around a corner. Bruno leapt into the passenger seat, and the car shot out of the lot like a bullet.

As the police forces drove deeper into the city, they fanned out in pairs to encircle the meeting spot. Peter drove straight for the spot and parked right next to the Mechanical Dreams bar. They went inside and took seats at a booth facing the street. The springy cushions were filled with uncomfortable lumps and squeaked with the slightest shift in body weight. The rancid odor of sweat and alcohol made Bruno rub at his nose.

When an acne-scarred waitress took their order, Peter ordered two beers. Peter didn’t touch his frothy, foul-smelling mug, but Bruno took a curious sip and nearly gagged. His tongue felt as though it were drenched in gasoline. He slowly set the mug down and scanned the room for watching eyes.

“Doesn’t look like any Rockets are here,” Peter said in a low voice. “Do you sense anything?”

Bruno closed his eyes. In the darkness, every person stood out like a flickering candle in different hues. Peter’s steady blue light, almost mistakable for a lucario, sat across from him, while other souls danced in different colors, some shooting off sparks of agitation, most twitching languidly from the alcohol. None gave off the notes of black that marked criminal intent.

Bruno shook his head and brought the mug to his mouth, making sure none of the amber liquid touched his tongue. Then he closed his eyes and widened his search, scanning the area north of the bar. He could feel Serena. Her crimson sun was still far off, but as he watched it, he could see it coming closer.

He wrote the number ten and showed it to Peter. The officer dug his hand into his coat and pressed the button on his radio twice, a press for each five minute interval. Then he cautiously looked into the beer before bringing it to his lips, tipping the mug back, and taking a long swallow. More beer spilled out of the corners of his mouth than got into it, but he still let some of it past his lips.

Peter’s expression remained flat, but Bruno could see his aura flicker with agitation, like a flame with water splashed into it.

“Don’t drink too much,” Peter told Bruno. “You need your senses more than mine, and this stuff’s stronger than it looks.”

“No danger of that,” Bruno wrote back. “I don’t think I could keep any of it down.”

Serena’s aura approached faster than he expected. After a few minutes, Bruno nodded towards the door. Peter left a twenty on the table and casually strolled towards the door while Bruno followed in his wake. Once they were out, they turned into the nearest alley, slunk into the shadows, and broke into a run once they were out of sight from the streets. Bruno led the way. Though the alley twisted and turned like tangled yarn, he deftly navigated the maze of forks and dead ends until they were almost at the collapsed building.

As they rounded a corner and came into view of the meeting spot, Bruno saw six Grunts in a small pack, chasing after Serena like wolves hunting a fox. Each one carried tasers, nooses, and pokeballs. Pokemon ran or flew alongside them. A cacturne hurled a handful of needles at Serena, and she twisted in time to avoid them.

Bruno sprinted ahead. Peter, cursing, followed a few seconds behind them. The pursuit entered an alleyway, and Bruno sensed a fork up ahead. Serena took a sharp right the moment she rounded another corner, while the grunts went straight ahead.

Bruno whipped around the corner, and immediately to his right was another alley, which he raced into. He ran another twenty feet and took a left. Two purple glowing lights hung in the air before him, and as he looked into them, drowsiness settled over his mind like a pile of cobwebs. Stifling a yawn, he knelt on the ground. His legs buckled, and he rolled onto his side.

The last thing he saw before his eyes closed was Serena’s blue eyes, glowing in the darkness, as she dragged him to a van.

*******

When Peter rounded that same corner, he saw only a path ahead. Blotchy brick walls stretched out on either side of him, with no sign of Bruno anywhere. He paused for a fraction of a second, searching for him, and then reasoned that the lucario must’ve leapt onto the roof.

Yet, as he ran, doubt plagued him. Even Bruno couldn’t leap two stories and vanish in a single second, and there weren’t fire escapes to make climbing easier. He should’ve heard the scrabble of claw on stone as Bruno vaulted a brick wall, and the rooftops in this section of town were all uneven. Crumbling apartment complexes rose around dingy shops.

But there was no time to stop and think. One of the Rockets’ pokemon, a raticate, spotted him and raced to intercept. He reached for the pokeball and called on Reason. In a blur of metallic blue, one of Reason’s arms shot forward and smacked the rat into the pavement. Only a meaty red paste, like stirred cherry Jell-O remained of the pokemon.

“Find Bruno and help him!” he shouted at Reason.

As the metagross flew over the rooftops, Peter pursued the Grunts. They didn’t seem to notice him, but two more pokemon broke off to attack him, a mightyena and a liepard both loping towards him. Two shots from his pistol caught the mightyena in the chest. It toppled to the ground, shuddered, and fell still as its blood gushed out of its mouth. The liepard dodged three bullets, and as it leapt for him, he decked it in the jaw with his elbow. It clawed at him. One set raked his arm, leaving thin, shallow scratches six inches long, and the other claws harmlessly glanced off his jacket, which was deceptively sturdy despite its shoddy appearance.

The liepard, mewling in pain as its jaw hung loosely in its head, pounced again, but this time, Peter drew a combat knife, ducked, and let the liepard jump over him. As it slid down his back, he stabbed the knife into the liepard. He didn’t bother turning to see if it died. Its shudder as the blade slipped between its ribs told him it would die within a minute, helpless as shock made its legs stiffen.

Peter rushed after them, gaining step by step, but as the Grunts turned to face him, a telepathic message from Reason stopped him.

“Bruno is gone,” it told him. “I lack the data required to track him.”

“What about Serena?” he murmured.

“Also gone,” Reason said. “This was a set-up. Break off your pursuit and regroup with the special ops unit. They were bait to distract you.”

Bullets clattered on the brick behind him as Peter ran back the way he came. At the entrance to the alleyway maze, around the first corner, he saw a path that wasn’t there the first time. Walking through it, Peter found Reason perched on top of a roof, watching the streets below with its cold red eyes.

“What happened here?”

Reason’s words came into his head. “They created an illusion to make this alley hidden. Bruno saw through it and came this way after the target while you and the Grunts went the other direction. Faint residues suggest a ghost hypnotized Bruno. The target dragged him into a van and drove to the west. The trail ends in the main streets.”

Bruno’s notebook lay discarded in the middle of the alley. He wrote a message on one page, tore it off, and left it on the spot where the notebook lay.

It read, “I will rescue you, no matter what it takes.”


	34. Chapter 34

When Bruno woke, the world felt silent. Not a glimmer of aura sparkled around him except his own. He watched its flickering blue light. Once in a while, a violet spark darted up and popped like a firework, dissolving into tiny black motes.

He opened his eyes. Overhead and all around him, translucent blue light fenced him in a cube twenty feet wide. Clean white covers were pulled over him. The mattress felt cool and soft beneath him, so pliant that even lying on his back didn’t hurt his tailbone.

A table sat next to the bed. A glass of water reminded him that his throat burned as if it were coated in burning gasoline. Without getting up from his bed, he grabbed the glass, greedily gulped it down, and looked for more. A plate of oran berries caught his eye, and though his stomach felt queasy, he crunched the berries in his mouth, sucked the juice, and spat the pulp on the plate.

Another ache at his throat brought a hand up to his neck. His fingers brushed against an unfamiliar, flexible lump. With both fingers, he traced the outline of the object, and a pang of horror kicked up a flurry of violet sparks in his aura. He tugged and tugged, pried at every inch, and even attacked it with his aura, but after five minutes of struggling, the collar remained firmly around his throat.

Bruno, trying to put the collar out of mind, looked around. Beyond the walls was a hazy blue blur, made all the more indistinct by Bruno’s aching head, but he could make out a set of indistinct metal walls around and above him. It seemed too sturdy and bare for an ordinary building, and he shivered at its resemblance to Stonebough prison. The sinking feeling that he was captured made a thin red tendril lash out of his aura, crack at the air above him, and disappear into thin air.

Feeling for the edge of the bed, Bruno swung his feet around, shoved the covers away, and stood on his feet. Sudden vertigo made him sit down. Bitter bile crept at the back of his throat, and his stomach felt as if a pack of carvanha were gnawing at it from the inside. With a deep breath, Bruno heaved himself to his feet, held back a trickle of vomit, and blinked at the lights flashing in his eyes.

He leaned against the bedpost. After a minute of slow, deep breaths, Bruno felt steady enough to try walking. He took one step towards a translucent wall, and then another. The blue wall shimmered as he approached it. He reached out with a hand, gently inching his hand towards the light. When the tips of his fingers brushed against the barrier, searing hot pain shot through his arm, and with a yelp, he stumbled backwards all the way to the bed.

“Don’t try running through it,” said a masculine voice behind him. “You’d be nothing but atoms before you came out on the other side. Here, watch.”

Bruno turned around. Behind the translucent barrier stood a man of middling height, with short-cut brown hair, tired brown eyes, and thin eyebrows. He held a handful of oran berries in a gloved hand. His uniform was white from head to toe, with red trim and a gold-embroidered red R on the right shoulder. Bruno knew it as an Admin uniform and bristled. A snarl rumbled the back of his throat. He probed the air around him, and in every direction, including beneath the floor, but his reach was stopped short by the blue barriers.

When the man saw he had Bruno’s attention, he threw a berry with a slow, underhand toss. It flew high into the air and dropped at eye-level into the wall. In a flash, nothing remained, not even a burnt smell.

“That’s high-energy plasma,” the Admin told him. “Anything organic will get ripped to atoms, but most metals can pass through unscathed. It puts out a lot of electromagnetic radiation, making most means of tracking you ineffective. Also, if I don’t miss my guess, your powers can’t reach me.”

Bruno stiffened. He growled at him, and the Admin smiled ruefully.

“If you have something to say to me, you better write it down.” He held up a pencil and a pile of small slips of paper, set them both on a metal tray, and covered them with a steel lid. The whole bundle was shoved on the floor through the wall. The metal sparked and crackled as it passed through the plasma.

“Careful now, the metal’s a bit hot.”

Bruno gingerly removed the lid. Scratching at the pencil lead revealed it was even softer than the average pencil, no doubt to ensure he couldn’t use it as a weapon. He sourly realized the papers weren’t bound for a similar reason.

He wrote down three questions, set the paper on the tray, and kicked it through. The Admin read them and tucked the note in a pocket.

“For your first question, I am known as Admin Sun. For your second, you are in a Rocket safe-house deep below ground. This cell was designed to contain the most dangerous of specimens. As for the third…” the Admin sneered at him, and his eyes were blocks of ice. “You’re a fool. You think she was forced into doing anything?”

In a fit of fury, Bruno crumpled the papers and pencil together in his hand and flung the ball at the admin. It disintegrated before it got anywhere close to his pristine white suit.

Admin Sun grinned at him. “I’m going to lower the walls around you.” Bruno’s eyes widened in surprise, and he shifted into a fighting stance without thinking. “Of course, I’m not going to give you the chance to escape or to injure me.”

He held up a small remote in his hand. “Here’s how this will happen. You are going to sit on the bed, and stay seated. First, another set of walls will spring up behind me. And then the walls in front of me will vanish.” The Admin gestured upward. “That way, signals won’t get through.” 

“If at any point you take a step in any direction, the walls come back up.” The Admin fingered the buttons on the remote. "Also, this activates the collar around your neck. It can either give you a powerful electric shock, or I can inject you with a powerful anesthetic.” His grin widened. “There’s also a variant that explodes, but I decided that was unnecessary.”

Bruno ground his teeth. He glared at the Admin for a minute, who simply smiled at him.

“I haven’t had the chance to test this collar yet. I wonder what happens when I tell the collar to give you an electric shock.”

Bruno tugged at the collar. Sweat trickled his forehead, but he ignored the urge to obey.

“Still nothing?” Admin Sun asked. “Fair warning, I think those collars were calibrated for aggron, so there’s no telling if you’ll be conscious after I give this little guy a push.”

Bruno would not let himself give in. He planted his feet and leaned back, ready to convulse onto the back.

“Alright then,” the Admin said, holding a finger over the remote. His finger crept downward, and when it touched, he said “Boink!” and pushed it.

Bruno tensed up, but nothing happened. He looked up in confusion, but the Admin’s smile never wavered.

“Electromagnetic radiation, remember? The remote doesn’t work through the barrier, unfortunately.” He shrugged. “How about this, then? Be a good boy, and I’ll let you see Serena.”

Defy Team Rocket, or see Serena? He wavered at the crossroads of that choice, but he reasoned that she still might be able to help him escape. Standing here would get him nothing. He kept telling himself that as he sat down on the bed and waited.

“Good.” Admin Sun turned around and nodded at the far wall. When he turned back, another barrier rose behind him. Then, with a muffled clap of air, the inner walls fell. The sudden rush of aura stabbed at his eyes, flooding his head with a roiling violet tide. When he opened them again. Serena was standing before him, wearing the Admin’s uniform.

“What the? Where did that Admin go?” Then his brain caught up with his eyes. A cold lump choked him in the back of his throat. “How? Why?” he asked, but to Serena’s ears, they were only barks.

“I’m not giving you another pencil. Not yet, anyways. Instead, I’ll talk, and you can nod your answers. Do you understand?”

Bruno numbly nodded. He started to ask if this was all some elaborate act, and quickly closed his mouth. Another presence, this one black with flecks of silver, tickled the back of his mind, a far quieter presence overshadowed by Serena’s more powerful aura. After a moment, he found the source, a dark patch within Serena’s shadow. A ghost.

“First off, Serena’s a name I made up. I go by Steven Sun. And second, Team Rocket isn’t forcing me to do anything. I am here because I want to be, and I am wearing this uniform, because I earned it. I have men who follow my orders, because I earned it. I have my own room, my own bed, my own computer and books and night-light, because I earned them. My meals are whatever I ask for, because I earned it. Why the hell would I ever want to give that up?”

Every word hit Bruno like a stone. “But Team Rocket uses pokemon!” he shouted at her. “They torture them and use them as tools, just like they are using you!”

His words fell on deaf ears. Steven grinned at him and held up at the remote. “Be quiet, or I’ll give that collar a test run.”

Bruno clamped his mouth shut. After a long pause, Steven said, “We’re going to play a little game. It’s a game I used to play. The rules are, I’m going to ask you a question. Tell me the truth, and I will give you a new pencil and more paper. Lie to me or refuse to answer, and I will take something away. We’ll start with the table. Nod if you understand.” 

Bruno nodded. Steven smiled at him and rubbed her thumb over the buttons. “Good. Now tell me, are there more pokemon like you in the city?”

She waited, but Bruno didn’t respond. As he stared in her cold blue eyes and the flickering, chaotic aura behind them, his first impulse was to tell her the truth, to answer every question she asked until he had nothing left to tell. But the thought of Peter, of how he would feel if he broke the trust between them, held him back.

“So, you refuse to answer?” When Bruno didn’t move, she stamped her foot on the floor. Out of her shadow rose a haunter, its huge, slimy tongue hanging out of its wide, gaping mouth. It cackled and waved at him.

“Set, take the table and leave the plate.” The haunter floated forward. Bruno gathered aura in his fists, ready to strike, but Steven’s finger hovering over the buttons made him sit still as the ghost set the plate on the floor and dragged the table to Steven. The Admin nodded, and the first set of walls returned, shutting out the aura. Steven’s black fur and vulpine visage melted into human skin and features.

She held up the table. “You can earn this back by answering questions. Until then, I’ll give you some time to think.”

Once he was all alone, Bruno sat cross-legged on his bed, closed his eyes, and thought of home, replacing translucent walls of plasma with plaster and paint, the bare room with furnishings and carpet, and the isolation with Peter’s warm, kind smile. Tears spilled onto the covers.


	35. Chapter 35

Seven resisted the urge to shower. It wasn’t that she needed to. Her fur, though matted beneath the freshly laundered Admin uniform, still smelled faintly of her jasmine soap. But just imaging the Atheros professor’s oily words, his manipulative tactics, and his calm, cold smile, and worse, using those tricks herself, tied her stomach in knots around her heart. She knew it would break her to imitate the professor, but it would break him first.

Instead of showering, she settled for brushing her fur. But as she yanked at knots, her thoughts wandered back to her own days behind a transparent wall, to the helplessness and isolation that weighed her shoulders down like sacks of flour. A particularly troublesome knot struggled against her comb, and with a swift yank, she tore out a tangled handful.

The rest of the evening was spent staring at figures and accounts, planning expenses for her squad, and assigning teams to the tasks Giovanni gave her. Every so often, she caught herself staring off into space, lost in thought. Each time, she growled, shook herself, and typed in a frenzy to compensate for lost time.

As the night progressed, Seven’s mind wandered more. Soon, she found herself staring at the clock as minutes floated by. Her Admin’s quarters were replaced with the bare walls, plasma barrier, and the professor staring at her with a slight, insincere smile on his face. The memories squeezed her chest, and even in the full light of the room, she felt the shadows with their hidden scalpels creeping in. The nightlight was snuffed out. Darkness descended, broken only by the dull, subtle gleam of scalpels and needles as they dug into her flesh.

With a howl, Seven broke the illusion. Shards of darkness rained onto the carpet and shriveled up, consuming themselves until nothing remained. She thought she heard the professor’s faint chuckle as the last shard winked out of existence, and shivered.

Seven’s throat burned, and her arms shook. She groped for a desk drawer, found a handle, and yanked it open. Inside were piles of water bottles and beef jerky packs. She wrenched open a bottle and chugged it flat, and then tore into a bag of jerky and crammed a small handful into her mouth. As she gnawed on the chewy, smoky meat, she thought over what to do. Talking to anyone, even Celeste, was out of the question, and it’s not like they could help her anyways. She couldn’t talk to anyone from Atheros either, since they were all dead.

That was when she thought about their research files. Before she could think it through, her hand darted to the phone and dialed Admin Colson’s number.

“Were copies made of Atheros Lab’s records?”

“Yes,” he answered. “If you want them, you’ll have to trade.”

Seven bristled. “What do you want?”

“Nothing much. It’s a small matter you ask of me, so I’ll make it fair and ask something small as well.” For a minute, all Seven heard was the clack of fingers on keys before Colson said, “Just bring me a bacon and pineapple pizza from the kitchens, got it? And be sure to bring it yourself.”

Colson hung up. Seven stared at the phone for a moment before standing, putting on her uniform, and walking out the door. She stepped into a bathroom and walked out as an ordinary Grunt, a guise more fitting for doing an Admin’s chores, and walked to the kitchens. The moment she asked for the unusual combination of toppings, the chef brought out a whole pizza in a box, already made.

“Be sure that gets to him intact,” the chef said. “He hates it when the toppings slide around.”

Seven carefully held the box level as she walked back to the Admins’ hallway. When she knocked on Admin Colson’s door, it opened at the slightest tap.

“Set it on the floor,” he said without looking up. “And be careful with the toppings. If I wanted my pizza and cheese separate, I’d order it that way.”

Seven sat down and set the pizza at her feet. After a moment, Colson unplugged a flash drive and tossed it behind his shoulder. It fell short and clattered onto the pizza box. Seven picked it up, tucked it into her pocket, and rose to leave.

“Wait,” he said. “I asked you to come in person for a reason.”

With a nervous glance at the door, Seven sat back on his clothes chest and waited. After a minute of typing, Colson turned his chair around. His black hair was tangled and gleaming from sweat, and a thin stubble covered his chin.

“I just want to know why you’re suddenly interested,” he said. “Giovanni would want to know, as well.”

Seven shrugged, ignoring the tension in her shoulders. “No real reason, I suppose. I just wanted to know what they were studying me for.”

Admin Colson leaned back in his chair. It creaked noisily. “If that was all you wanted to know, you could’ve asked that over the phone.”

Seven shifted on her seat and looked down. After some internal debate, she decided that she had to be honest. “I feel… troubled lately.”

“Because of your interrogation of the pokemon you captured, correct?” he asked. A smile touched his lips when he saw Seven flinch. “I thought so. It was remarkably similar to what you yourself went through, and I can’t imagine that you want any reminder of what you went through. So, you’re hoping to find something in those files to help you cope with your situation?”

At a loss for words, Seven nodded. Colson got out of his chair, took the box to his desk, and flipped open the lid. “Hmm, looks like the cheese slid a bit, but I won’t complain.” He pulled out a slice, and the cheese stretched out in big gooey strands before the Admin cut them with his tongue, twining them around and sucking up the grease. “I love my cheese this gooey,” he said around a mouthful, “But it has a bad habit of slipping and sliding.” He swallowed, and held out the box with one hand. “Want a slice?”

Seven shook her head. As she walked towards the door, Colson said, “I wouldn’t count on finding anything helpful. Giovanni and I looked through it. The only reason we’re letting you look through them is because we think there’s nothing sensitive in them.”

Seven returned to her room. It was on the other side of the hallway to the left, farther away from Giovanni’s office. Once she was alone and at her desk, she plugged the flash drive into her computer and pulled up the files. There was a staggering amount of test data from all fourteen test subjects, from pdf checklists to lengthy essays on research result.

She opened the file labeled Seven, and after a second, a flood of file paths popped up on her computer. Confronted by a staggering amount of information, she clicked at random, popping up a few test reports. Some she remembered, such as the intelligence tests and physical exams, and others were hazy memories, such as computer tutoring. She didn’t recognize a few, including a surprising number labeled sleep tests that held a lot of wavy charts.

One tab, labeled as a compilation of studies on her illusions, caught her eye. After a brief once-over of the abstract, she learned that her powers mimicked photons, able to cancel them out by destructively interfering with interference patterns. However, the photons only existed as long as she sustained them and vanished when her concentration slipped. This she knew. However, she didn’t realize that the sounds were real. Stimulating other atoms with her photons creates air fluctuations that can mimic human speech or cancel out other sound waves. They could also trigger photoreceptors like ordinary photons. And unlike her photons, the sounds they made or electrons they displaced were permanent. After thinking it over, she realized that, though Bruno could see past her photons, he still heard Steven’s voice, and he could still be fooled by fake video footage.

While those files were an interesting discovery, they were only a distraction eating up an hour of her night. She closed it out and kept clicking at random, scanning through meal reports and item requisitions before she found the professor’s audio logs.

The moment the professor’s oily voice rang out of her speakers, she closed out the log, clicking rapidly on the X until the box closed out. Ragged breaths caught in her throat, and she caught a flicker of blue from one of the walls.

It took a minute for her to calm down. Steeling herself, Seven gripped the arm of her chair and opened the audio log again.

“Professor Martin, January 29th, 1997,” he said in a clinical, sterile voice.

Seven hit the pause button. Martin. That was his name. It suddenly occurred to Seven that she never knew his name, that he always had everyone simply call him professor. She backed up the recording and played it again.

“Professor Martin, January 29th, 1997. Today, we begin Project Mirage. The ultimate objective of this project is classified information and will not be discussed in audio under any circumstance.” That comment was said with a bit of snap in his voice. “However, it begins with the twelve zorua pups we have received from the Manchester zoo. The highly antisocial species responds poorly to captivity, human presence, and training in equal measure, so the first task is to alter their brain structure, making them more intelligent and more manageable. This will be accomplished by overriding the safety measures on a custom-made pokemon cellular regeneration device and using it to trigger changes on the genetic level aimed to give the zorua humanoid brains. Today marks the first treatment. The subjects will be exposed to the machines for five minutes to check for any negative effects.”

The audio crackled before it ended. Seven stared at the computer screen and felt shock fluttering in her chest. There were others? Why didn’t she remember them? Numbly, she opened the next one and gripped her chair even harder.

“Professor Martin, February 5th, 1997. A week has passed since the first trial. One subject developed a minor brain tumor in the frontal lobe, right above the optical nerve. It’s a troubling sign, but the tumor was successfully removed. 

MRIs have revealed minor structural changes, including frontal lobe expansion by twenty percent, the skull expanding by ten percent to accommodate the new brain mass, and the amygdala shrinking by as much as forty percent. The zorua less resemble feral beasts biting at the cages and act more like puppies, calling for attention and behaving with less hostility.

The original plan called for an hour, but the machine is having greater effects than anticipated. Exposure will be limited to half an hour.”

Though she tried, Seven couldn’t remember anything from when she was a zorua, and even her first months as a zoroark were dim, fuzzy memories. Though her mouth felt dry as sand, she left the bottles of water in her desk where they were as she opened the next file.

“Professor Martin, February 14th, 1997. Eight of the zorua are dead. The side-effects were even greater than I imagined. Each zorua has developed, on average, fourteen brain tumors, ranging from grains of rice to baseballs. They metastasize quickly, spreading first to the liver before attacking the heart and lungs. Strokes are also common, caused by the rapid and uncontrolled development of blood vessels in the brain, and have proven to be the most probable cause of death. I have assigned the remaining six subjects aspirin, Micardis, and chemotherapy to battle these symptoms. I have also put in a request for more zorua with the zoo, since I give these six pups together less than ten percent chance of surviving.”

As Seven opened the next audio tape, a feeling of dread like icicles jabbing into her ribs pricked her. She already knew why she didn’t remember any of the others.

“Professor Martin, February 26th, 1997. We are down to two zorua, numbers Seven and Nine. Nine has Stage IV, M3, N1 brain cancer, metastasized to the heart, lungs, liver, and stomach, and is expected to die within the next twenty-four hours. An attempt will be made to preserve its DNA through recombination with ditto cells.”

“Seven is at Stage II, N0, M0, and seems to respond well to treatment. I am redirecting all our resources into keeping that one alive, since yesterday, the last female zoroark in captivity was killed by its mate. The current objective is to raise Seven to adulthood and have her breed another set of subjects. It may confer a genetic resistance to the side-effects of the treatment to its offspring. Though I may not live to see this experiment succeed, I will at least allow a future generation to continue my work.” In a low grumble, he said, “The big-wigs won’t be happy, but there’s nothing else I can do.” 

She listened through months worth of audio logs, each one describing her condition. One week, the cancer reached her lymph nodes, and the next, she was given the all clear, only for cancer to swell up in four places at once two weeks down the road. She listened through two years of reports, through a grueling, gradual inclination of her health, before sleep pulled her eyelids down. With a puzzling mixture of eagerness and reluctance, she hit the power button on her computer, blinked as the harsh screen light winked out, and crawled into bed with her clothes on.


	36. Chapter 36

A pin dropping would’ve been a thunderclap in the Commissioner Mason’s office as Gordon himself, Peter, the intelligence officer Matt, Elder Bayron, and two other lucario sat down at the Commissioner’s table, the humans on one side and the pokemon on the other. Peter felt the Elder’s eyes boring holes into his soul as he gripped his Sudoku book like a holy relic.

The receptionist brought in three mugs of coffee and three cups of tea, set them on the table, and tiptoed out as though the floor were covered in mines. Peter took a long swallow of coffee, ignoring the bitter bite on his tongue.

“This is the outcome I feared,” Bayron said as he raised a cup of tea to his lips. “Bruno has spent far too much time in this city, and whatever happened will only exacerbate his instability. Dealing with him is our top priority.”

Peter’s eyes narrowed. “When you say deal with, what do you mean?”

The Elder bowed his head. “That remains to be seen. However, it is very likely he will have to be… put down.”

Peter’s knuckles whitened as his grip tightened on the ceramic mug. “If you’re going to ask me to kill my partner, then I would appreciate an explanation. What is happening to him?”

“I shouldn’t tell you,” he said. “That secret is the source of our strength and our greatest weakness.” He looked into his mug as he swirled the tea, and took a long sniff of its aroma. Then his shoulders slackened. “You do deserve an explanation. I would appreciate it if what I am about to tell you never leaves this room.”

Matt got up from his seat, opened the door, and gave the Elder a curt not.

“We don’t simply feel the aura around us,” Elder Bayron said. “We absorb it, and make it a part of ourselves, as plants absorb the sun’s rays.” He held up his hand to the sunlight, as if to demonstrate his point. “In a more peaceful setting, it gives us a greater awareness of our environment and augments our powers. But in a city, with all the chaos and tumult of emotion, it consumes us.” The Elder tugged his white robe closer to his skin. “Most commit suicide, but a few go mad and devour the aura around them, like a cancer, if you will. Worse, lucario that go mad emit enough aura that it affects other life-forms around them. If left long enough, a densely populated area can descend into madness.”

Peter swallowed. His stomach sank low enough to hit the floor, and his head swam. He took a deep breath, fingered the pages of his book, and told himself that he would find Bruno. He had to.

“How – how long do we have?” Peter’s voice broke as he asked.

“A week at most.” Elder Bayron frowned. “Five days is more likely. The good news is, he’ll be a lot easier to find once he breaks. The lucario from the Temple would know and provide reinforcements.”

“We have Reason calculating all potential hiding spots,” Mason said. “It’ll take a few days for the results to come in, but once they do, we’ll strike.”

“And in the meantime,” Bayron said, “I will return to the Temple and discuss what to do among my brethren. In the meantime, these two will help you search. They may find Bruno before your metagross.”

The two lucario bowed their heads, and the three officers returned the gesture. Then the one to Peter’s left spoke.

“Are we to be working with that human?” he asked, nodding towards Peter. “He feels unstable.”

“Adam has a point,” Elder Bayron said. A shiver ran down Peter’s back when those wizened red eyes looked into his own. “Perhaps you should take the week off. I know it would be hard, sitting and doing nothing while others do all the work, but you won’t help anyone by being in a disturbed mental state.”

Peter closed his eyes. Fear and grief wriggled around his mind like tapeworms, chaotic and violent as a child’s scribbles. He forced the numbers into his head, digits of one through nine, and placed them in a square in his head, forming the beginning of a Sudoku puzzle. The squiggles, pinned between the numbers, formed a wobbly, writhing grid. Then, one by one, he fit more numbers into place, carefully following the logical induction of Sudoku’s rules. As another number fit into place, the lines straightened out and went still, and each time his concentration slipped and his thoughts went back to Bruno, to an empty seat in front of him, an uneaten donut and untouched cup of coffee left for his absent partner, the silence filling his home, the lines knocked numbers aside and wriggled out of the grid. After what felt like an eternity, he finally had a perfect grid of eighty-one numbers, with all his fear and paranoia pinned in a logical, orderly grid.

Peter opened his eyes. Elder Bayron’s expression hadn’t changed, but his eyes seemed a touch doubtful. “I may be struggling, but I can still be calm. Even now, I’m in better control of my emotions than anyone else in the force, aren’t I?”

The Elder shook his head. “Bruno said much the same, and look what happened.”

“Is there any other choice?”

Peter swallowed another mouthful of coffee while he waited for the answer. He let the bitterness rush over his tongue and stuck the foul tang into his head like pins, driving them into his grid. Keeping that grid, holding that grid, was all he could allow himself to perceive. Anything else would only distract him and bring back chaos.

The Elder drained his glass and said, “You have a point. If Jarem and Kolar don’t object, I recommend that they patrol the city with Officer Peter.”

The lucario on the right, Kolar, said, “If he can maintain his composure, then I have no objections.” Peter quickly compared the two lucario and noted that Kolar had a slightly shorter, stouter muzzle, while Jarem had longer spikes on his wrists and shaggier fur around the collar. Without losing his grip on the grid, Peter examined their faces and memorized them. He squeezed the pages of his book together, and his hand shook from the effort of keeping his grief in check, but he held firm.

“So, we’ll begin today?” Peter asked. He raised his mug to his lips, thinking to calm his nerves with another sip of bitterness, but it was empty. He waited for a few bitter trickles to wet his lips before setting the mug down.

“Now, if you are able,” Bayron said. “We cannot afford any delays.”

Jarem and Kolar rose, and Peter leapt to his feet. With a salute to the Commissioner, Peter followed the two lucario out to the front entrance. They stopped just short of the sidewalk. Peter nearly bumped into them, and walked around to speak face to face.

“Do you have a plan?” he asked them.

“It’s very noisy,” Kolar said. “Is there anywhere more peaceful? It would be best if we stayed in one spot.”

“Is there anywhere that Bruno liked visiting?” Jarem asked. 

Peter thought for a moment. A stray thread of anger unwound itself, and he forced it back into place.

“There’s a café on the east side of town, the Honeycomb. That was Bruno’s favorite.”

He drove them to a parking lot around the corner from the café. At first, he studied his passengers and noted that they couldn’t sit still. Some passing cars made them flinch, and they shied away from a few buildings as they passed them by. However, their presence only drew attention to the empty space to his right, so he shifted his attention to the road, checking the license plates on every car he passed and making Sudoku grids out of them.

That was how he noticed his tail. One car, a pristine white Civic, followed them from half a mile out of the police station, maybe even earlier. He flipped his turn signal left and went right, and the car followed him without the slightest twitch into the other lane.

He turned towards a quieter section of town, where a criss-cross of one-way streets formed a cramped maze. He wound a dizzying path past closed meat-packing warehouses and butcher’s shops, darting around corners as fast as he dared with his silver Camry. And yet, the clunker matched him turn for turn. Though it no longer made any secret of its following him, it didn’t try to stop his vehicle either.

“We have a tail,” Peter told his passengers.

“We noticed,” Jarem said. “We don’t sense any hostility from them, but we can’t tell what their intentions are. Will you call for back-up and have them arrested?”

Peter pursed his lips. “They aren’t breaking any laws, and back-up would get here too late if they tried to kill us. I guess all we can do is stop and see what they want.”

He pulled over, and the white car parked right behind them. The passenger door opened, and a person wearing a white mask stepped out of the car. Their jacket, pants, gloves, and tennis shoes were all cheap white material, from the button to the zippers, stitching, and hems. Not a speck of skin or other color showed. In their gloved hand was a white envelope. 

For a split second, Peter’s hand gripped the gear-shift, and he almost put it in drive, but with a sigh he kept it in park and rolled down his passenger window by an inch.

“A message for the Commissioner,” the masked person said. A voice filter made their gender indistinguishable. “You may open it, if you wish.”

Before Peter could say anything, the messenger slid the envelope into the car and walked back to the car. The Civic’s engine roared, and the car disappeared before Peter thought to follow it.

“Are you going to open it?” Kolar asked.

“Might be rigged,” Peter said. “C-4 or Anthrax. I’ll have the packages department deal with it.”

Peter turned the car around and drove to the Honeycomb. He almost took the usual booth, right next to the entrance, and instead decided on a corner booth, nestled in between a bookshelf and an empty booth, shadowed by an absence of windows in the back.

The waitress walked over, gave them a warm hello, and gave confused glances at the white robes of the two lucario. They both took tea, but Peter ordered nothing. He didn’t think he could handle the taste of honey at the moment.

Jarem and Kolar started asking him questions. It started as simple ice-breakers, what hobbies he had, favorite foods, how he liked his job, and they gradually worked their way into more painful questions. They asked for stories about Bruno, about his training at the Temple and the days when he was first getting to know his partner, about the training courses at the police academy and their first emergency response. 

Peter couldn’t tell if they were testing him or simply making polite conversation as they worked, but he resolved to maintain his grid. When he grew too tired to keep the image in his head, he pulled out his book and finished puzzle after puzzle until he only had a few pages left.

Once the sun was starting to set, after five rounds of tea, a quick lunch break at a sandwich shop across the street, and hours of exhausting conversation, the two lucario stood. Peter’s brain lagged behind for a moment before he paid the bill and followed them out the door.

“We can sense the Elder well enough,” Kolar said as Peter drove back to the police station. “However, we couldn’t find Bruno or the aura he mentioned.”

“There was a presence,” Jarem said, “Something a bit stronger than the rest of the city, but I can only tell that it’s farther west. We should search there tomorrow.”

When Peter dropped off the letter with the receptionist, leaving her specific instructions on how to handle it, the two lucario followed him in. But when he went back to his car, they both took the back seats.

“Aren’t you going to stay at the police station?” he asked.

“Too stressful there,” Jarem said. “And we thought it would be wiser to stay with you. We might sense traces of him if we remain long enough.”

Peter inwardly groaned as he drove them home, set up bedding on the couch, and stared up at his bedroom ceiling, trying and failing to make himself fall asleep.


	37. Chapter 37

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone, just a quick note before I get this started. Life got rather crazy the last few weeks, between getting a parrot, going to a party, getting fillings, not to mention the PokeCommunity Get-Together that’s been a massive time sink. I had to take a break from writing for a few weeks. Unfortunately, I don’t think the insanity will be over for another month, but I should be able to get chapters done on a weekly basis like before. Thanks for the understandings, views, following, and whatnot, and enjoy the chapter!

The plate was gone, the bed too. First, Seven took the pillow. Then she took the covers. The mattress went next, and last of all, the frame was removed, leaving him nothing but an empty room with a hole in the middle, which Bruno learned to his horror was his bathroom. The hole was taken away too, covered with a plate welded to the floor. Now, if he wanted to go to the bathroom, he could let it lie on the floor or trust his balance and sense of space to keep him from backing into the wall of plasma. Though the plasma made for an efficient method of waste removal, singed hairs on his tail marked the few times he nearly erased his ass from existence.

After there was nothing left to take away, Seven added things. Hidden beneath the floor was a radio that would make ear-wrenching noises at random intervals, keeping him awake through night and day. The temperature varied wildly, from bone-chilling days to nights hot enough to make his fur wilt. Seven also controlled the lighting, alternating between absolute darkness to eye-burning brightness. She controlled day and night, stretching some to mind-numbing extremes and making others flit by in a heartbeat, and eventually, Bruno lost all grasp of time.

But worst of all were the goddamn puzzles. Meals, once thrown onto the floor, now came in intricate contraptions. His mind, dulled beyond coherent thought, quickly became frustrated with the puzzles, and in fits of rage he would smash them apart. Seven gave him one of those soft, infuriating smiles every time he scooped chunky paste out of the broken puzzles and crammed it down his throat.

Even that did not break him. He stubbornly clung to the image of home, to Peter scribbling in his Sudoku book, to sitting next to him in the antiquated movie theater chowing down on popcorn with real butter, to the thrill of chasing criminals down winding alleys and the feeling of worth and importance every time another lawbreaker got cuffed and stuffed in a police car.

And despite all the assaults to his senses, the prison felt peaceful. A different noise, one clamoring at his soul, had ceased when the plasma encircled him. For the first time in months, he felt as though he could breathe in without choking on it. Thanks to this, despite the mind-numbing noise, lights, frustration and sleep-deprivation, images of home grew sharper in his head, and the deeper he fell into a waking meditative trance, his mind like an oil bubble sliding across a roiling sea.

But as the eternity wore on, Seven spoke with him more and more. Her presence burned him, not the gentle warmth of the sun or even the searing heat of open flame, but the carcinogenic burn of uranium, breaking down everything it touched, twisting it, sowing havoc in every fiber of his being. He could taste it now, so clearly, a disgust with the world, a disgust for humans, a disgust for pokemon, and most of all, a disgust for herself, as thick and vile as sludge on his tongue. The roiling ocean, once raging and pure salt water that his oil-like mind slid over, turned into a noxious, stinking filth that pulled his mind under, mixing it with the tar and reek of Seven’s soul.

Even with the constant bombardment of Seven’s own frustration, even when creeping thoughts Peter abandoning him or having died during a mission without him, his soul refused to waver. What kept him sane was the certain knowledge that if he gave into the despair his soul drowned in, he would never see Peter again.

Seven, on the other hand, found herself slowly losing her grip on her patience. She had already gone far beyond what she had intended, and some deprivations she had inflicted on Bruno were punishments that the Professor had never used on her. Though he had often threatened to take away the toilet when she was acting recalcitrant, he never did. Watching him squat before the plasma wall, inches from destroying himself atom by atom, stung her conscience like a wasp.

As days turned to weeks, Giovanni and the other Admins started asking pointed questions about the efficacy of her methods. Fisher advocated physical torture and volunteered to do it himself if she felt too squeamish, while Colson proposed having a beeheyem dissect Bruno’s mind and save everyone the trouble. Though Giovanni kept sending her gentle reminders that time was short, between the White Knights mobilizing and the police regrouping, along with rumors that the two had plans to work together to take down the Rockets, he left the decision in Seven’s hands. She wished he hadn’t.

Stuck between the mounting pressure from the other Rockets to get results and her growing guilt over inflicting the same torture she endured for years, she broke first. One night, she laid into Bruno with the shock collar, sending volts through his neck for minutes at a time. His eyes bulged, and he fell to the floor. One hand clawed at the collar around his throat, and the other clutched at his heart as it fluttered and faltered under the repeated shocks.

When Seven was done, Bruno clumsily rose to his feet and backed away from her. His eyes were wide with panic, and they darted around the room, as if looking for escape.

“Just answer the damn question already,” Seven snapped. “Just answer, and none of this shit has to happen anymore.”

Bruno shook his head, and for a second, Seven felt a pang of hope. “Is that the answer then, no?”

Bruno kept his head still, and the rage returned. Seven strode forward, and he backed away until his back was a quarter-inch away from the crackling plasma. He glanced back, swallowed, and then kept his eyes on the floor.

“Just one push,” Seven said, “And there’d be nothing left of you but a puff of air.” She grabbed Bruno by the fur on his chest, and he shuddered beneath her grip. “I already know the answer. Yes, there’s more, we’ve seen them lurking around, hunting for you. So just say it already! Are there more of you?”

Bruno closed his eyes. Seven nearly shoved him back into the plasma, but instead, she yanked him forward. He tumbled to the ground. Seven pinned him beneath her and threw punch after punch at his face, bloodying his muzzle and making his eyes swell shut. After five minutes, by which time each punch hurt her more than it hurt him, she got to her feet, wiped her bloody fingers on her shirt, and walked away.

Bruno barked something. Seven turned around, but he hadn’t moved from the blood-stained patch of floor.

“Would you like a translation?” Thoth asked through her tablet. When she nodded, the screen said, “I’ll never tell you anything.”

“Why?” Seven asked. “You have nothing to gain by holding out.”

Bruno looked up at her through one eye that, through its swollen eyelid, peered out through a thin crack.

“I know he’s looking for me. He’ll find me.”

Seven made a point of reading her tablet, as if to tell Bruno that’s how she understood him. Then she said, “He might find a corpse, if I’m feeling generous.” The words made her stomach lurch, but she forced them out.

Bruno chuckled, a weak, raspy sound halfway between human joy and canine barks. “If you were going to kill me, you would’ve done it already.”

But Seven already had a different idea. She remembered the cop that chased her right behind Bruno. If that’s who Bruno meant, then she might find a way to break Bruno’s will by following him and capturing the moment he proved unfaithful. Him giving up, moving on, as he inevitably would, must break Bruno.

So, beginning that night, she looked through Team Rocket’s records, scanning dozens of faces in the police lineup until she found her target, Peter. Name, address, birthday, personal identification, financial and medical records, everything she needed to find her was all within Team Rocket’s databases. The next morning, she took a body camera and audio recorder, and got dropped off by her Grunts at a fast food burger joint two blocks from Peter’s home. 

In a nondescript illusion and wearing civilian clothes with a wide-brimmed white hat, Seven ordered a hamburger meal, found a corner seat with a perfect view, and ate the greasy food slowly without tasting it. Once she finished, she lingered an hour longer, taking periodic sips from her soda and never taking her eyes off of the front door. When he stepped out with two lucario behind him, Seven flinched. She debated turning back, but remembering the previous night, the blood dripping from her bruised fingers, Bruno’s swollen eyes and battered muzzle, she made herself press on.

The trio stopped at a café first, and after window-shopping for five minutes at a clothing boutique across the street, she entered, ordered tea, and took a seat as far away as she could from the table with two lucario that still had a good view of the table while keeping the backs of the lucario to her. She sipped her tea, taking care not to block her camera with her arms, and kept a wary eye on the lucario. Their ears twitched, and she got the uncomfortable notion that they sensed her presence. When one of them turned around, she bent her head, hiding herself behind her hat as she took a nervous sip.

The lucario must not have seen anything, because it turned around without a word. Seven followed them out of the café, to a movie theater, then another café, a burger restaurant, and finally, back to their own place. During each transit, Seven dashed into a clothes store and swapped out her costume, trading the white hat for one of straw, then she wore a couple hoodies, and she rounded out her disguise collection with a wig, a baseball cap, and a long, fluffy black scarf. She nearly lost the trio a few times, but Thoth hacked into traffic cameras and found them quickly enough.

She heard snippets of their conversation as well, most of it about finding Bruno. She caught one lucario saying that, at this point, Bruno is almost certainly dead, but Peter refused to hear it. He said that if Bruno was still alive, he would’ve snapped by now, and Seven nearly snorted at that.

By nightfall, once Peter and the two lucario went home, Seven was left with a sinking feeling that, although Peter would give up one day, she couldn’t possibly keep tailing him with those lucario around. While mulling over the problem, she thought of a novel solution and chuckled to herself as she got in the car.

The next day, she had every second of the video she recorded downloaded onto a flashdrive, stored a copy on her computer just in case, and brought it, along with two chairs, a table, and a bottle of water and jerky for herself, into Bruno’s room. She started the video and passed the laptop over to Bruno, who sat across from her.

Through the whole seven-hour video, Bruno never said a word or looked away. His jaw tensed, but he gave no other outward sign of emotion. Once it was done, he barked something, and Thoth translated it to, “They’re still looking for me.”

“They were looking for you, I guess,” Seven said as she popped a piece of jerky in her mouth. “The lucario are convinced you’re dead. They said you’d have broken by now if you were still alive.”

“But Peter is still looking,” Bruno said. “I know he’d never stop.” Tears speckled the corners of his eyes, and his jaw clenched tighter.

“He will,” Seven said. “He can’t keep looking forever, and one of these days, he’s going to figure the other lucario are right and move on. It might even happen soon, judging by how they’re spending so much time together.

Bruno’s shoulders slumped, and tears trickled from his eyes. Seven smiled to herself, stood, and left the room, leaving the table and laptop as well. Though it wasn’t a dramatic break, she finally cracked his armor, and with a little more time, Bruno would split wide open.

Her joy was marred only by a burning sensation in her eyes that she couldn’t quite blink away.


	38. Chapter 38

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello readers, this is Bardothren with a bit of a request for you guys. This chapter represents a major turning point for the plot, since I didn't have any idea what exactly my endgame would be until an idea crystallized in my mind as I was mulling over this chapter. Please let me know if the idea sucks, and why, so I can go back and work on it. Alright, on with the story!

Peter sat in the chair across from Gregory Mason. The opened letter sat on the Commissioner’s desk, in its own private space next to stacks of reports and complaints. A coffee mug sat atop it, and the paper had overlapping brown circles across its surface.

“So, your only lead for the past three weeks is a ‘resonance,’ as the lucario put it?” The Commissioner tapped the handle on the mug and took a deep breath. “I hate to be the one to say this, but I think it’s time to pull the plug.”

Peter’s fingers clenched the Sudoku book in his pocket, and he shifted in his seat. Only a couple blank pages remained. “If Bruno’s been dead for weeks, as everyone would have me believe, why hasn’t Team Rocket made a move yet? They got all those men back from Stonebough, and all they’ve done is a few petty robberies.”

“I’d hardly call twenty million petty, Peter.” Mason scratched at his beard. “It’s more likely that Team Rocket is waiting for the WK to make the next move. They have a position of power, and they don’t want to risk losing it by moving blindly.”

“That, or they’re waiting for Bruno to crack under what interrogation techniques they’re using,” Peter countered. “They have no idea what lucario are or how many they’re dealing with. Not to mention,” He added, his words dripping with venom, “You know they’d rather not destroy a valuable tool.” Bile crept up his throat, and his hands shook.

Mason scratched at his goatee and leaned forward. “You may investigate the resonance after our meeting with the WK. After that, I’ll need your full attention on whatever our next move will be. Is that understood?”

“Yes sir,” Peter said. His throat felt dry and raw, and his eyes burned. “And we’re going through with our meeting?”

“I don’t see what choice we have,” Mason grumbled. “And it’s not like public opinion can get any worse. They’re sick of all the waiting, and so am I.”

“We don’t need the Knights,” Peter said. “We’ve done just fine without them.”

“That was before the colossal fuck-up at Stonebough. If we don’t get results this month, the next election cycle’s going to be a shit-show, and we’ll be at the blowing end of the fan. So, we’re working with the WK, assuming their terms are reasonable.”

“And if they aren’t?” Peter asked numbly.

“Then we let the WK raise hell and hope we can take out the Rockets while they’re distracted.” Gregory drummed his fingers on his desk and said, “If you’re lucky, it might be the perfect opportunity to get Bruno back.”

At that moment, the door opened. Elder Bayron, flanked by Kolar and Jarem, stood behind him. They stared at Peter and glanced away when he turned to look at them.

“Elder Bayron, what do you think of working with the WK?” Gregory asked. 

“I know little of politics,” the Elder said, “But from what I’ve learned, your course of action seems wisest. The enemy of my enemy is my friend.”

“But who’s their enemy?” Peter said as he stared at the Commissioner. “Seems more likely to me they’d be interested in taking down the government than the Rockets, whatever they say.”

“We don’t need any more enemies than we already have,” Mason said. “If they cooperate, then well and good, and if not, then we better hope they deal with the Rockets first.” He rubbed his temples with one hand and took a long swallow of lukewarm coffee with the other. “Look, I know it’s bad, but it’s the hand we’ve been dealt, and we have no choice but to bluff our asses off and hope it works, or we go flat broke.” He shrugged. “If anyone has any better ideas, I’m all ears.”

The room fell silent for a moment. Then Gregory Mason clapped his hands loudly enough to make a soft echo of applause off the walls. “I think we’ve discussed this enough. Our meeting with the WK is in five minutes, and we better be ready to greet our guests. I’ll do all the talking, unless any of you are asked specific questions. And Peter, please be civil.”

The group exited the room, walked past a line of empty offices and a conference room with four armed officers on standby before entering the adjacent room, a small meeting room with ten chairs and a long wooden table. A fresh pot of coffee, a pitcher of water, and a cooler of colas were set underneath the table’s edge, and bowls of mixed nuts ran down the length of the table. Peter poured himself a cup of water, drained it in one swallow, and picked a few pecans out of the nearest bowl. Commissioner Mason poured himself a cup of coffee, as did the lucario.

The door opened, and a dark-skinned police officer motioned for five hooded figures to enter. Each wore long white robes that touched the floor and round white masks attached to the hems of their hoods. Darkness obscured the eyes behind the holes.

The first to enter was a head taller than Gregory, and had to walk bow-legged and hunch-backed through the door. The second had to stoop, the third grazed the top of their head against the doorframe and hastily adjusted their hood, the fourth walked through comfortably, and the fifth was the shortest, not even coming up to Peter’s shoulder. They seated themselves on the side of the table nearest the door, with the tallest in the center.

“I presume you are the leader?” Gregory asked the shortest. “I’ve seen all your televised speeches, and I must say, I still have no idea what you’re really after.”

The tallest shook their head. “Do not presume,” they said with a soft, deep voice. Physiology is an illusion that blinds us to the truth that we’re all the same.”

The Commissioner blinked and turned his gaze towards the speaker. Though his head stayed still, his eyes darted up and down, taking in the figure’s monstrous height. “My apologies. So, might I ask your name?”

“Names are illusions as well,” said the figure of middling height in front of Elder Bayron. Their voice was a perfect match to the other speaker’s. “We are all brothers, born of the same planet and raised by the same society. Call us what you will, but remember that names divide what is otherwise united.”

“Then I’ll call you Middle,” Gregory said, “If you really don’t mind. Are we here to discuss philosophy, or business?”

The shorter one chuckled, and said, with the same raspy baritone, “We don’t mind going straight to the point. We offer information critical to apprehending key members of Team Rocket, along with our assistance in combating their criminal affairs.”

The shortest chimed in with matching voice. “And in return, we have a few conditions. You’ve already fulfilled one of them.”

The Commissioner’s eyes narrowed. “Why did you want Peter here?”

There was a hint of a smile in Middle’s voice as they said, “We aren’t interested in Peter. It was just the surest way to get the lucario here.”

Jarem and Kolar stiffened, while the Elder said, “For what purpose did you wish to meet me?”

“We were curious,” said Middle. “Team Rocket has taken quite an interest in your kind, more than we expected.”

“Then you know what happened?” Peter said. The Commissioner scowled at him, but the tallest said, “We have eyes and ears all over the city. Very little escapes our notice.”

“What about your other demands?” Gregory asked. He took a sip of coffee, grabbed a handful of nuts out of a bowl, and chewed them all at once. He swallowed and said, “There’s no sense in having this conversation if I can’t accept your other terms.”

“We have two terms,” the taller one said. “First, we want you to cease all investigation into our activities. We can scarcely help you if you’re confiscating the weapons in our warehouses.”

Commissioner Mason grimaced and nodded. “I can deal with you after the Rockets are finished. Next?”

“We want a new law passed.” The shortest figure took an envelope out of his robes and set it on the table. “That contains the details of our proposal.”

Gregory undid the clasp and slid the papers into one hand. As he read through each one, his brow furrowed, his jaw clenched, and he glanced up at the figures. Peter’s thoughts drifted off, and he stroked the pages of his Sudoku book.

“Is this some kind of joke?” he asked. “None of this makes sense.” He filled up his coffee mug and let it sit in his hands. “None of your speeches ever once mentioned pokemon rights.” 

“We preach equality for all,” said Middle, “and pokemon are, by far, the most poorly treated brethren on the planet. They have no representation in the current government, have minimal legal protection, and are subject to poorer working conditions without their consent. The pokéball is the symbol of that oppression, and adding a voluntary escape measure, the manufacture of which is thoroughly detailed by the reports you just read, is the first step to true equality.”

Peter’s glanced up. Though the billowing robes revealed nothing of the figures’ emotions, Gregory was fidgeting with his fingers, and his eyes darted around the room.

The tallest figure adjusted his robe and said, “As to why we have refrained from making our intentions clear sooner, we needed political support, and we needed to recruit members to aid in our fight against Team Rocket.”

Gregory shifted nervously in his seat. “But you used pokemon to guard your warehouses. Dozens died in that raid two month ago.”

“They volunteered for the task and knew the risks, as did the humans,” said the shorter.

Gregory snorted. “Can pokemon really volunteer? Can they really understand what they’re fighting for?”

“You’re sitting next to three pokemon that are capable of human speech, rational thought, and intelligence equal to your own,” said the shortest. Peter didn’t move, but he felt uncomfortably aware of the three lucario sitting on their side, wearing white raiment reminiscent of the Knights’ cloaks. 

Gregory opened his mouth, but the figure cut him off. “Before you tell me they’re a special case, you should know that many pokemon are more intelligent than they appear, once you bridge the language gap.”

“I take it you have evidence of this?” the Commissioner asked. His voice quivered, and he licked his lips.

The shortest turned towards the others. “If you would be so kind?”

The tallest unbuckled their mask from their robes and pulled the stiff hood back. Underneath was a chatot, ruffling its brightly plumaged feathers. A Bluetooth earpiece stuck out of the right side of its head. Then the figure undid the buttons on the front of its robe. A blaziken, crowned with long white feathers, stared at the humans with predatory blue eyes. A mouthpiece hung from the inside of the robe.

Three more figures, in descending order of height, opened their robes. A scizor, a hitmonchan, and an electabuzz revealed themselves in turn, and each had a chatot partner and a wireless audio connection.

The blaziken spoke, and the chatot translated. “We’ve been speaking to you this whole time, but you could never understand us.”

Gregory Mason paled, and his coffee mug shook in his hand, but Peter felt a strange thrill. He asked, “Are all pokemon as intelligent as you?”

“Not yet,” said the electabuzz, “But more become aware. It won’t be long until we all have the gift of knowledge.”

Gregory shot Peter a sour look and turned towards the hidden figure. “Are you one of them as well? A smeargle, perhaps, or a pikachu?”

The shortest removed their robe. Beneath was a short man, middle-aged, with a gray mop of hair, a beak-like nose, and eyes that glowed in the incandescent light.

The Commissioner relaxed into his chair, but the three lucario stiffened. Kolar stood and backed away from the table. “What the hell are you?” Elder Bayron asked.

The man raised an eyebrow. He clicked his tongue and shook his head. “Well, this is a surprise. At least I know why Team Rocket took such an interest in you.”

Peter and Gregory both looked from the man and the Elder. “What’s going on?” asked the Commissioner.

The man smiled at them. “I do apologize for the deception, but I felt it necessary to keep my identity a secret. Well, have a look.”

The human features vanished. In their place was a grotesque mask of patchy black hair, blobs of lumpy pink slime, and misshapen facial features. Two eyes were half-buried beneath the lumps on its brow, the nose sagged over the lips, and one ear had drooped all the way down to the chin. Peter gagged on his coffee, and the mug slipped from Gregory’s fingers. A large brown stain spread across the table, and Jarem scooped up the papers before they were soaked.

“There’s two ways this can end,” the gruesome pokemon said. “Either you can embrace the inevitable change, or it will be forced upon you.” A shiver ran up Peter’s spine as the thin, cracking voice brushed his ears like a murkrow’s feather. Panic settled over him as the thought of pokemon rioting, smashing streets and tearing down buildings, flooded his brain. But then he thought of Bruno, of eating breakfast with him, watching movies, walking on patrols. 

Peter opened his mouth, but the Commissioner broke the silence first. “What the hell are you?”

It smiled and said, “I’m what you humans made me, a monster.”

Peter glanced at the pokemon around the room and asked, “Who are you? What is your name?”

It chuckled. “I don’t like names very much, and a monster like me can never be a ‘who’. But I did have a name once. I was Subject Nine.”


	39. Chapter 39

Two days after Seven gave Bruno the video of Pete living with two other lucario, she told him her story, everything she could remember of her confinement in Atheros Labs, the surgical procedures and intelligence tests, all the escape attempts that became footnotes in the Professor’s research, and the sweet taste of freedom she felt the instant before the jaws of the Professor’s final trap snapped over her. 

At the end, Seven told him about the times she pleaded with humans over internet forums, humans she spent years talking to, befriended, shared secrets and gossip, roleplayed with and discussed the finer points of anime. After each plea, all she received was silence. Some acted as though they never got the message, even after she sent more. Others blew it off as a joke, or called her crazy. As she became more persistent, her contacts erased their accounts and left. That was when she realized that the Professor had counted on humanity’s unwillingness to help non-humans like her, had let her enjoy the possibility of escape before she ran into the brick wall of the human desire to preserve the status quo and their own indolent lifestyle.

Bruno drank up every bitter word the way parched dirt drinks gasoline. His expression went from pleading and tearful while watching Peter drink coffee with the two lucario, to sullen and cold. Palpable rage clung to the air around him. Every time Seven left his cell, her hands shook, and her mouth salivated at the memory of human flesh sliding over her tongue. 

Seven avoided long exposure to his presence after gnawing through seven packs of jerky to calm her hackles, but Bruno had already cracked. After that second day, he answered her first question, and more. He described the Temple, a colony of lucario living halfway up a mountain with a handful of human and pokemon companions, and his police training, which started seven years ago when Peter came to the Temple and trained alongside him, and everything he knew of the police system, from the patrol routes to their arsenal, his own predictions for their next moves. 

Seven spoke with him through the plasma barrier and recorded his answers. Admin Colson found no deceit, and Giovanni applauded her for her resounding success. As Bruno got a flushing toilet, foam mattress, silverware and a dining table, and internet access, Seven received organic jerky as tender as the eighty dollar steaks she had for dinner every evening.

On the fifth day, Giovanni summoned his Admins. They met in his office, behind locked doors, with a spread of fine slices of ham and cheese to sample, accompanied a bottle of fifty-year Pinot Noir. 

Giovanni speared the first slice of ham on a tiny fork, chewed it methodically, and wiped his mouth with a handkerchief. “I called you all here because the police and the Knights will make their move very soon.” He gestured at the platter and empty wine goblets and said, “Please help yourselves. Consider this the appetizer to the meal we shall share after we crush them both with the same stone.”

Seven wrapped a slice of ham around a chunk of manchego cheese. The rich, nutty flavor made her shiver with delight as she reached for a second helping. Fisher poured himself a full goblet of wine, Celeste sampled wine and ham in equal measure, allowing one flavor to complement the other, and Colson ignored the spread, instead typing on a keyboard concealed beneath his shirt sleeves. 

“The police and the Knights met yesterday,” Giovanni said. “Though I could assume they wished to team up to remove us, I had no way of knowing if they reached any form of agreement. However, this happened today.”

He set a newspaper on the desk. On it read the headline: New Release Function Added to Pokéballs to Thwart Rockets. “To summarize,” Giovanni said, “A law got rammed down Parliament’s throat to give pokéballs an escape option for pokemon, the premise being any pokemon held against its will can escape, and we would lose our means of controlling them.” Giovanni snorted, crumpled up the newspaper, tossed it in a garbage bin, and sanitized his hands. “It’s bullshit through and through, designed to hide a few truths behind this maneuver.”

Admin Colson chimed in without looking up from his wrist. “The WK are a pokemon activist group, and that law was one of their conditions.”

“Precisely.” Giovanni took a morsel of cheese and savored it, looking at each Admin in turn. “But there’s more. The WK won’t content themselves with this tiny change, not from the way the police are trying to cover up their involvement. This is a first step, and their endgame will not be popular.”

Celeste sipped her wine. “Until they publicly announce their intentions,” she said, “We can’t use that against them. They may take advantage of our presence and police endorsement to push their platform, but they may also wait until the war’s over.”

“True,” Giovanni said. “However, an elegant solution sits in this room.”

Four sets of eyes turned towards Seven. With a nod, she asked, “What are your orders?”

“Infiltrate the WK,” Giovanni said. “What you do after that, I leave to your discretion. You may assassinate their leaders, gather incriminating evidence, sabotage their intelligence networks, or assume the identity of a prominent figurehead and start a scandal. The priority is to demolish them as quickly as possible, understood?”

“Yes sir.”

One slice of ham remained on the platter. She started towards it, but she stopped and withdrew her fork. With a thin smile, Giovanni gestured towards the ham, and Seven took it.

“I will give you four days to get your paperwork in order and transfer Bruno over to Celeste’s care,” Giovanni said. “After that, you will begin your mission. You may take any member of your team and any pokemon in your possession, but in your place, I would take few of each. Too many pokemon or humans will attract attention.”

With a wave, he dismissed them all. Seven went to her room and sorted all the essential paperwork. She assigned personnel to defensive posts and recon, sorted the spoils of her latest missions, and informed Blacksmith that he would be taking over in her absence. Her steak dinner arrived as her stomach made its first rumbling complaints, and she ate with gusto. The bordelaise sauce that accompanied it dulled the meaty flavor, but after spending time with Bruno, she found its tangy, bitter flavor a welcome distraction.

She left her plate on a tray outside the door and went to a private-access elevator. It took her a quarter mile below the city, to an abandoned subway project repurposed by the Rockets. A sleek, magnetic railway connected Rocket bases like arteries, pumping people and supplies wherever they are needed.

Seven took a single car, about the size of a small bathroom, all the way to the detention center that held Bruno. She passed two guards on her way in. Both of them bowed, and one opened the door for her.

A long, narrow room, filled with computer monitors and recording equipment, had a one-way mirror with a view of the facility’s holding cells. A handful of researchers monitored the facility’s lone occupant, noting everything from eating habits to the noises it made. From one of the monitors, Thoth stared out at them and assisted in translations and behavioral computation.

“Hello sir,” Thoth said when Seven entered the room. “No significant changes have been recorded since your last visit. The subject remains compliant.”

A chill settled on Seven’s heart like frost at the word, but she brushed it aside. “I’ll be needing you for another mission.”

The screen flickered as Thoth processed her comment. “Like Stonebough?”

“Similar.”

Electrons jumped as the porygon moved through the screen. Its three-dimensional plasma form floated at eye level in front of Seven.

“I am at your service,” it said. “May I inquire about the mission parameters so I can start risk assessment and optimal strategies?”

“Later,” Seven said. “It’s a confidential mission, and we cannot risk being overheard.”

The porygon followed Seven as she went to Bruno’s cage. She stayed behind the plasma wall. Bruno was looking at his laptop with a glare that told her it he was watching the video again.”

“Good evening,” she said. “Did you enjoy your dinner?”

His eyes darted up. “It was excellent, thank you.”

“Good. I came to let you know that I will be leaving in four days. I have an important mission, and during that time, I will leave you in the care of Admin Celeste. Treat her with the same courtesy you treat me.”

Bruno’s eyes blazed as he said, “Take me with you.”

“Excuse me?”

He walked over to the plasma. His muzzle was a hair’s width from having every electron stripped from its proteins. “I know how to handle myself in a fight, and I can sense aura. Whatever you’re doing, I would be a huge help.”

Seven shook her head and smiled. “You’re a prisoner, and Giovanni wants you to stay that way. What’s stopping you from escaping?”

“This collar,” he said, tugging at the device around his neck. “If I betray you, just push the button and problem solved.”

“You could steal the remote,” Seven countered. “And the range on it is limited.”

“Then make it so the device will go off if I get too far away from you, or something.”

“You could still betray us at the cost of your life.” She gestured at the computer. “You could tell him about this place, and the police would eventually find it and others.”

Bruno picked up the laptop and flung it on the ground. The plastic casing broke into tiny fragments. Wires and silicon chips spilled out of it like guts, and Bruno smashed them all to dust with his feet.

“He left me here.” Bruno’s voice burned, and tears turned his eyes into shimmering orbs of fire. “He left me here and replaced me with two more lucario.” He chuckled and said, “What do I have left but to join up with you?”

Even with the plasma buffer in between them, Seven could feel the raw anger in his voice. The offer tempted her, doubly so since Giovanni would applaud her for turning their captive into a useful pawn, but she shook her head. “The risk is too great. I cannot allow you outside of that cage.”

A shudder ran through the power grid. The lights flickered, the plasma leaked out of its magnetic casing, and Thoth gave an unearthly shriek as its delicate circuitry frayed apart like old rope. Then the world went dark. Thoth exploded in a shower of glittering white fragments that vanished into whatever they touched with a crackle of sparks. The barriers fell. Bruno’s toxic rage warmed her like a radioactive furnace, and the suggestion of scalpels had the deathlike chill of a morgue. Hope swathed her like a blanket as she reached for the flashlight in her hair, but when she pushed its switch, nothing happened.

Sweats and fits of shivering reduced Seven to a shuddering heap on the floor. Her illusion fell apart as the first syringe dug its way into her veins. Moans escaped her lips, and she begged for the darkness to end.

A gentle blue light answered her prayers. She didn’t notice the lessening darkness until her shadow stood out in the light. When she turned back, Bruno stood over her, holding a glowing sphere in one hand. His other reached for her.

Seven’s hand approached his, but in the light, she saw her own hand, covered in black fur, naked of its human illusion. She forced the illusion back in place, pushed herself up with her hands, and stepped away from Bruno.

“I won’t ignore you,” he said. “I won’t leave you in the dark like they did. I won’t betray you, or hurt you, or do anything a human would. So please, let me help you.”

His anger was gone. In its place was a perfume-like sensation of affection and tenderness, like the aroma of a rose garden, gentle and sweet.

After a moment, Seven said, “It looks like I just lost one of my pokemon. I could use a replacement.”


	40. Chapter 40

Peter checked the ammunition in his gun again. He knew it for a nervous tick before the night’s mission, but all the same, the eelektrik wriggling in his gut wouldn’t stop zapping him until he ran his thumbnail over the percussion caps of each bullet in the clip.

“So, you picked up on a trail?” he asked Jarem and Kolar.

The lucario looked at each other, and Jarem said, “Trail isn’t the right word for it. More like an urge. When a lucario does something habitually, a task they deem special, a bit of their aura lingers in the area imbued with that will.”

Kolar added, “Like an alarm clock.”

Peter nodded despite his confusion and asked, “What now?”

“We will follow it and see where it goes.”

The two lucario entered the bathroom, opened the window, and clambered out. Peter leaned out the window as they scrambled onto a fence.

“Wait, what are you doing?”

“Following the aura,” Kolar said. “He went out the same way.”

Peter’s stomach dropped, but he dug his hand into his pocket, pressed his Sudoku book between his fingers, and said, “Keep going. I’ll catch up with you.”

Running out the front door, Peter spotted two shadows gliding across the rooftops. He sprinted after them. Glass crunched beneath his feet and paper fluttered in his wake as Peter ran through the worn-down alleys half a mile south of his home. When the lucario leapt down to street level, he skidded to a halt and fell in behind them.

The alley they entered was too narrow for the two lucario to stand abreast. Kolar took the lead, and Peter, the rear, as they approached a wooden door eaten by rot and ready to fall off its rusted hinges. Jarem knocked gently on the soft wood. Footsteps grated on a gravel floor inside the building, and the door slowly swung inward. 

A delphox poked his head around the opening. It smiled for a second, but its eyes widened in surprise when it peered around Jarem. It ran back inside, and moments later, an alakazam opened the door all the way.

The alakazam and Jarem spoke for a moment in grunts and growls Peter couldn’t even understand from emotional context, but he understood when the alakazam addressed him.

“So you are Peter,” the alakazam said in a soft, masculine baritone. He held out his hand. “My name is Preston. It is a pleasure to meet you, especially since Bruno has spoken so fondly of you.”

Peter’s heart lurched as he took the clawed hand and shook it. “You knew Bruno?” He grimaced at his words and hastily added, “I mean know.”

Preston grimaced and opened the door wider. “You better come inside. It is a long tale, and our current company will make it longer still.”

Peter followed the pokemon into the building. A shiver ran down his back as he passed the doorway, as if an invisible, tingling bubble enveloped the building. Despite the crumbling walls, gravel floor, rotten tables, and grimy bar, the building exuded a warm, old-fashioned charisma, as if he had walked backwards in time to a Prohibition-era speakeasy. 

Six pokemon sat in stools surrounding the bar, a metang taking up two seats, a gardevoir next to an empty spot, a hypno and a mienshao sat together, and the delphox was behind a blaziken in a white robe. Peter’s mouth went dry at the sight of it.

“You’re from the WK?” he asked the blaziken.

The blaziken turned around, and the two lucario flinched. Kolar whispered in Peter’s ear, “That’s Nine.”

The blood froze in Peter’s veins. He numbly nodded towards Nine and said, “It’s good to see you again.”

“I wish I could say the same,” he replied, “But your presence here was an unexpected… obstacle.” He looked at the two lucario. “I hope you will excuse my current appearance. I’d rather not upset anyone.”

Peter cleared his throat and ran his fingers over the Sudoku book. “Is this some kind of White Knight meeting? If so, I apologize for walking in unannounced. We were following a lead we had on Bruno’s location.” He glanced at Preston. “If you have any information on his whereabouts, I would appreciate it if you would share.”

Preston gestured towards the bar, and three purple discs, hovering level with the tops of the stools, appeared in empty spaces between the seated pokemon. “Please take a seat. Stools are in short supply, so I hope you don’t mind one made of psionic energy.”

Peter’s first step took him towards the seat farthest from Nine, but after a second’s hesitation and a caress of the Sudoku book’s pages, he sat next to Nine. Jarem and Kolar took the other seats, next to the metang and Preston respectively.

A thick glass bottle, ostensibly cleaned compared to its grimy neighbors on the liquor shelf, floated towards Preston. Two glasses followed it like baby duckletts. The bottle opened and tipped itself over the glasses, and a cloudy peach-colored liquid poured into each.

“I would offer you a beverage,” Preston said, “But I’m afraid all I have is homebrewed berry sake, and I don’t know if it is safe for humans.”

Peter glanced at the other pokemon. Each one had a glass in front of them in various states of consumption. “I would like some, if you don’t mind.”

Preston blinked. Another glass glided across the bar, stopped beneath the bottle, and carried its load to Peter. He took a cautious sniff of the sake. It smelled faintly of alcohol and cheri berries. He sipped it, paused, waiting for the flavor to sink into his tongue. Nothing happened. He swallowed half of it, and this time, he caught a faint bite of alcohol, notes of spiciness, and a nutty aftertaste, but despite that, it tasted little stronger than water.

“Thank you,” he said after he drained the glass. “It was good.”

Preston’s brows furrowed. “I see.” He poured another glass, but this one bubbled as it reached him, and its peach color had darkened to solid amber. A single whiff nearly burned every hair in his nose.

“Hold on, I think I got it.” The surface of the liquid stirred, and it lightened slightly. One sip filled his mouth with the wild bonanza of nutty spiciness tempered with syrupy pecha that the first glass had suggested.

“I started this gathering a few years ago,” Preston said as the others sipped their sake. “From my time at the university, I noticed students and faculty going out to bars and socializing. Being what I am, the few times I tried it felt… awkward.” The alakazam cleared his throat and poured himself a second glass. “So, I decided to start my own. In my spare time, I searched for other pokemon with an intellect comparable to my own and a desire for some social interaction.”

“And Bruno was one of those you found?” Peter asked.

“Not exactly.” Preston stroked his mustache with a clawed finger and turned towards Kolar. “Is it acceptable to speak of your home?”

“He already knows,” Kolar answered.

Preston nodded and returned his gaze to Peter. “My travels took me to the Temple. There, I met with the Elders, and they expressed interest in our gathering. They asked me to allow Bruno to attend.”

Peter shook his head. His grip tightened on the glass, he swigged the rest of the sake and held out his hand for a refill. “Why didn’t he tell me? Did you ask him not to?”

“I did not.” The bottle poured out half a glass before returning to Preston’s side. “I do not prohibit anyone here from speaking of it, but the Elders may have instructed otherwise.” He asked Kolar, “Do you have anything to add?”

Kolar shook his head. “I know nothing of this place or of what the Elders had ordered.”

Nine set his glass down with a soft plink and leaned back on his stool. “So that was my mistake. I should’ve realized the Temple had an interest in this gathering before coming here.” 

Peter watched him out of the corner of his eye as he asked Preston, “Are you part of the White Knights?”

“No. Nine came here to make that offer, and we were in the middle of discussing it when you came in.”

Peter suppressed the urge to ask their opinion and instead spoke to Nine. “That’s the reason you’re here, then? A recruitment drive?”

Nine closed his eyes and leaned back farther. “Sort of. I had a few other reasons for coming as well.” He stretched, sprung forward, and drank a mouthful of sake. “The second reason is I’m setting off an EMP half a block from here.”

Dead silence filled the room, as if the EMP had just gone off and disrupted all sound. Then Peter said, with all the calm he could muster, “You do realize that is highly illegal.”

“Quite,” Nine said, “Which is why I was rather disgruntled by your sudden arrival.”

“May I ask why you are setting off an EMP in the middle of the city, and that you didn’t inform us in our meeting yesterday?”

“Simple. It’s my first move against the Rockets, and the more people know a secret, the harder it is to keep it. Not to mention, there’d be so much bureaucratic red tape to cross if this got to Parliament that the Rockets would have every legislator hostage before they reached an agreement.”

“You still should’ve told us.”

“And give the Rockets time to set up a countermeasure like the one around this building?” Nine giggled. “You can blame the radical White Knights or the Rockets for all I care. Point is, if all goes well, you’ll have Bruno back by tomorrow night.”

Peter’s heart raced, but he schooled his face into an emotionless mask. “How so?”

“I had a few other reasons for the visit. Aside from warning their metallic member that an EMP would fry every electronic within half a mile of this spot, I also wanted Preston’s help in finding Bruno.” He tapped the gravel under the stools. “I know the Rockets have him in an underground bunker somewhere around here, but without more specific information, I’d never find him. So, once the EMPs disable the shields around Bruno, Preston will be able to find him.” Nine gave the lucario a sidelong glance and added, “Perhaps that would help in your search as well.”

Giddiness bubbled up like carbonation in Peter’s chest, but a lingering doubt iced it over. “Were you really planning to return Bruno?” he asked.

Nine’s eyes stared directly into Peter’s, and his posture straightened. “Of course. Why would I want to keep him to myself?”

Before Peter could think of a reply, Nine glanced down at a watch on his wrist. “It’ll go off any second. Be ready.”

A shudder ran through the walls. A purple membrane bent inwards, like a balloon squeezed by outstretched hands, and bounced back into place. Preston put a hand to his head and sagged forward.

“I found him!” he shouted.

At the same moment, the lucarios’ eyes widened. “We feel him,” Jarem said. “He’s not gone yet, but he’s very close. Elder Bayron will be here in a minute.”

“I’ll be right back,” Preston said. “Make sure to keep the area by the door clear.”

Nine’s eyes widened. “No, not yet. I have a team ready to move. This is our only chance to strike and we can’t warn them it’s coming.”

“You heard them,” Preston said flatly. “He doesn’t have much time. I’m going now.”

“No, wait!” Nine lunged towards him, but Preston winked out of existence. A rank, sweaty, odor filled the space he once occupied, one familiar to Preston’s nose.

A moment later, Preston and Bruno appeared in the room, staggered a few steps forward, and fell to the floor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello guys, thoughts on how this ended would be appreciated. I'm on the fence about it and may make changes depending on the feedback I get.
> 
> The way I see it, my three options are: leave it as a surprise for this chapter, describe Bruno vanishing in the last one and describe it in this one, or remove Bruno getting rescued entirely, if it simply isn't working.


	41. Chapter 41

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First off, thanks to Daruvael for a ton of helpful pointers on all the action that happened. I'm still not done with all the patching around those issues, but I will continue to take those points into account. Also, I added a bit to the end of Chapter Thirty-Nine to make Bruno's reappearance in Chapter Forty less sudden. Also, happy almost-Halloween!

This meeting with Giovanni had no tender slices of ham, no pungent cheeses, no aromatic, heady wine. Bitter anger and disinfectant hung in the air. Ferns loomed over Seven like judges in a tribunal and blotted out the lights. Fisher, Colson, and Celeste stood near the door while she sat in front of Giovanni. Dread crushed her like a coat of lead, each fiber of it seeping into her skin and tainting her blood. Chills racked her chest, and a dry ache tickled the back of her throat.

“Let me see if I understand this correctly,” Givoanni said as he pressed another dollop of isopropanol onto his hands and crushed it between his palms. “An EMP was detonated directly above our isolated detention facility, and in the confusion, an unknown entity teleported in, took the lucario, and vanished.”

Seven nodded. Sweat trickled down her neck, soaking the back of her shirt. She shifted in her seat, and her hair got ruffled beneath her clothes, making them bulge out in awkward lumps.

“In addition, all the electronic equipment at that facility, a porygon, and thirty pokéballs were broken beyond repair, and we lost twenty-eight of those pokemon. Six personnel with implants had to be treated, and one died when his pacemaker malfunctioned.”

Seven bowed her head. Her stomach curdled, and the acrid taste of bile burned the back of her throat. “I ask your forgiveness. It was an oversight on my part that allowed this to happen.” She closed her eyes and clenched her hands while she waited for Giovanni’s answer.

The Rocket Boss leaned back and said, “There was nothing to be done. The police would never have the stones to set off an EMP, even in an isolated area, and very few psychics have the power to teleport as much and as far as the intruder.” He stroked his chin. His fingernails rasped against the faint shadow of a beard on his face. “It had to be the Knights, and for them to have the open support of powerful psychics is… a sobering thought.” He looked at Celeste and said, “Have all the other isolated areas abandoned, and move everything into the main blocks within six hours. If it isn’t there by then, leave it, and seal the exits.” To Colson, he said, “Reroute the power going into the auxiliary facilities into the core EMF, see if you can double the output.”

“What about B- the lucario?” Seven asked.

Giovanni shook his head. “We got what we needed, and it’s long gone besides. Let them keep their hollow prize, and let us learn what we can from this defeat.” He studied Seven and asked, “You are immune to psychic interference, correct?”

Seven nodded, and Giovanni smiled.

“Perfect. Then I won’t need to change plans.” He handed Seven a manila folder. “The details about your new identity are in there. Make sure you’re the only one that sees them.” He set a cardboard box on the desk and sliced the tape with a penknife. “You have three objectives while infiltrating the Knights. First, poison their most powerful psychics.” He held up a cologne bottle filled with a clear, bubbly liquid. “One drop of this in their food or drink will kill a psychic, but it won’t harm anything else. Just make sure it’s in something strong, it has a bitter taste.”

He held up a thin black rod. “I also intend to have Admin Colson ‘captured’ as part of this mission. Once he is imprisoned, find a way to give him this. It’s waterproof, shockproof, and heat resistant, so hiding it in food is possible.”

The third item was a small black cube. “Save this for last, when you are about to leave. This is an EMP powerful enough to take out a couple city blocks.” His grin widened. “One might say it’s a taste of their own medicine. It has a thirty minute timer on it, enough for you to get Colson out and return to base. Is that understood?”

Seven nodded. Giovanni gingerly reached for the final item, a pokéball, and set it on the desk. “Your haunter survived its pokéball’s destruction, but you’ll need replacements for the rest of your team. This is Subject Three, renamed Odin. It has been taught moves designed to impede or kill numerous targets and cause severe structural damage. Be careful not to get caught in single combat with this one, many pokemon can outclass it in speed and firepower.”

The pokéball weighed no more than a few ounces, but in Seven’s hand, it felt heavy enough to crush her fingers. She tucked it in her belt next to Set’s new pokéball and took extra caution not to press its release button.

“Also, I had your porygon reassembled using its backup files. It won’t have any memory of the time it spent with you, but it should have all of its software patches. It’ll be on your computer.”

“Will I be receiving any more pokemon?” Seven asked.

Giovanni rubbed more disinfectant into his hands. “Since we’re dealing with activists, it’s best that you pretend not to have any. It will be harder to hide having a full team, but one more could be useful. Take whichever of the Atheros Subjects you think will be most useful.” He looked up at Fisher and said, “Help Seven pick out a proper tool for the job, and offer whatever advice you can. If she fails, you’ll be the next one to try.”

Fisher nodded and walked out the door. After Giovanni dismissed her, Seven rushed after the Admin. While they walked, Fisher told her to keep as few secrets as possible, obey all their commands without hesitation, get a janitorial duty that grants her access and excuses to be in rooms, and never ask for a promotion or more sensitive duties. Seven typed notes into her tablet.

Seven also read through her résumé. She memorized her new name, Allison Caldwell, the outline of her cover letter citing martial arts lessons taken as a teenager and an abandoned major in computer sciences. Another folder held a thick booklet of persona-building details, from place of birth, through three moves, and into attending a local university. There were photographs of the fake person and fabricated family members, along with a short list of personal details for each. In addition, the file contained a wallet with loose bills, a generic credit card, an expired library pass, and a photo of her “mom.”

“Just remember,” Fisher said as they approached the labyrinth of pokemon cages, “If you see a Rocket while you’re undercover, they will not know who you are. They’ll try to kill you, and you better not hold back.”

The rows of plasma cages and their dead-eyed pokemon inhabitants sent a shiver up Seven’s back. She nodded and lowered her head. The metal floor vaguely reflected the bright hues of the pokemon, but the details were smudged out.

“See anything you like?” Fisher asked. “I’d know what I’d pick in your boat, but let’s see what you come up with.”

Seven went towards Subject One, a delphox. The vulpine pokemon stared at her with glazed orange eyes and tapped its claw against its pronged wand.

“A psychic type would be helpful if I’m up against other psychics,” Seven said.

Fisher shook his head. “A psychic like that alakazam would sense it a mile away.”

Seven went down the rows of cages. The dratini was gone, and the tyranitar sat on her belt, but all the others remained. She rejected the reuniclus and solrock as psychics, and the rest were either bulky fighters or house pets. An infernape caught her eye as potential back-up for Odin, but the fourteenth cell made the decision for her.

“This one,” she told Fisher, pointing at the ditto. She lowered the plasma barrier and approached it.

He frowned at the pink blob on the floor. “You’re joking, right?”

She snapped her fingers, and Fourteen fixed its beady eyes on her. “Mirror.”

The ditto expanded and changed color until its front was a perfect replica of Seven’s illusory body. She turned, and the ditto turned with her. Its beady eyes remained in place as the head turned, making it appear as if its eyes slid onto the back of its head. Its back matched hers, and once Seven completed the rotation, the ditto’s beady black eyes sank into the pupils of Steven Sun’s.

Seven raised her right hand and wiggled her fingers. While the ditto’s movements weren’t exact, it mimicked the gesture well enough to pass for human.

“Form-shift, watch.” The ditto shrank into itself and turned into a Velcro-strapped sports watch. Seven wrapped it around her wrist and pressed the Velcro into place. She held it up for Fisher’s inspection.

Fisher poked the watch. “That’s impressive. I would’ve gone for the infernape, but that little guy’s much more useful.”

With her new watch and more advice from Fisher, Seven went back to her room and cracked open a bag of beef jerky. A bottle of water washed it all down. Her computer flashed, and she noticed a beeping icon on her screen. She had turned it off before the meeting, but the porygon sitting in her computer had powered it up.

The box read, “Begin Plasma Transcription?” She clicked on the green checkmark, and the screen crackled with static. Scraps of binary leapt across the screen, and each pixel lit up with headache-inducing arrays of color. Inch by inch, light pressed out of the screen in polygonal lumps, until the new Thoth forced its way into reality.

“Greetings, master,” read a line of white script glowing on the porygon’s flat chest. “My name is Thoth, and I am a porygon of model 3, patch 1.087, with additional unsigned software additions downloaded to my systems.” It blinked at her and said, “These additions are not authorized by Silph Co. Would you like me to delete them?”

“No, keep them,” Seven told it. “Do you remember me?”

“Remember you? No, not at all. I was made from a back-up file with no memory stored, just the software. Am I correct in assuming that you have had a copy of myself before?”

“Yes. It was destroyed by an EMP.”

The porygon’s plasma shivered. “An awful way to go. Is there any danger of such an accident happening to me?”

Seven debated telling it about the EMP stuck in her hair. “It shouldn’t happen again.” Then she asked, “Do you know anything about the mission?”

“Mission?” Its eyes were unfocused as it scanned its data files. “I do have instructions in the boot-up files regarding the infiltration of the White Knights. Is this the mission you refer to?”

“Yes.”

The porygon leapt into the computer screen, and the computer froze for a moment. The fan whirred wildly, and the hard drive crackled. Then the porygon came back out. “I tried finding an optimal strategy, but there are too many unknown variables. I estimate a high probability of failure, at least sixty percent, and completing all three objectives will require a miracle.” Its eyes narrowed, and it added, “You said there wouldn’t be an EMP.”

Seven took a pokéball out of her desk drawer, a replacement for the one broken by the EMP, and called out Set. The haunter grinned at her and waved at Thoth.

“We have another mission,” Seven told Set. “Like the prison, but more dangerous. I’ll be counting on you again.”

The haunter sternly saluted her. A grin cracked its face, the hand went to its ethereal chest, and it wheezed with laughter. Misty black tears fell from its eyes and vanished before they hit the floor.

Thoth looked at the ghost and said, “Make that a seventy percent chance of failure.”


	42. Chapter 42

As suddenly as the darkness descended, light reappeared in a flash. In spite of his fur, the air’s chill made him shiver. He blinked, and his eyes adjusted to the surroundings. The wall in front of him had the same cracked, peeling paint as the abandoned bar his friends met at every month. He turned. The bar had more occupants than seats, most of them familiar faces, but four stood out from the crowd, two lucario, a robed figure that hid its face, and Peter. The lucario and Peter rose from the floor, and one lucario nursed a sore tail.

Bruno’s breath caught in his throat at the sight of Peter. Tears stung his eyes. He ran forward, arms outstretched to embrace him, but the two lucario darted between them, poised to strike. Bruno skidded to a halt on the gravel floor and stared in confusion at them.

Peter shoved them aside and went towards him, but the lucario pulled him back. “Let me go!” he shouted at them. “He’s right there! We got him back, and he’s fine!”

“He is not fine,” Jarem wrote. “He needs to return to the Temple immediately. The tiniest bit of stress could set him off, and there’s no helping him if that happens. Just keep your distance and wait for the Elder to arrive.” 

Peter read the paper handed to him and crumpled it up. “No.” Peter’s command had the weight of an iron rod. “You’re only stressing him out more like this. Let me talk to him.”

Kolar eyed him warily. He wrote, “You’re not in a stable state of mind yourself. You may only make things worse.”

Peter’s hand went into his coat pocket. The outline of the Sudoku book made a square bulge in the fabric. “I am perfectly fine, and you are the one making everything worse. Stand aside, or I’ll find a pokéball for you.”

The two lucario flinched. They exchanged some words too quiet for Bruno to pick out, in the tongue of pokemon, and stepped aside. Though they look ready to pounce at a sneeze, they stood by as Peter walked up to him.

His embrace took the chill out of the air. Warmth seeped into him, as though Peter’s soul kindled his own. His calming presence swept away the fears and doubts clouding his head, and tears poured out of him.

“I can’t believe I’m finally back,” he said into Peter’s coat. Though the human couldn’t know his words, he understood.

“It’s good to have you back. I missed you more than I knew I could.” He chuckled, and his grip tightened. “I won’t ever lose you again, I promise.”

Bruno barked in agreement. One of Peter’s arms left the embrace and dug into a pocket. Peter held up a notepad and a pen.

“I have a spare on me, so write whatever you have to say.”

Bruno took the pen. His hands shook, but after a few tries, he wrote, “How did you find me?”

Peter glanced at the hooded figure. “It wasn’t us. The White Knights figured out where you were and arranged for your rescue. Preston was the one that got you out of there.”

Bruno looked back and saw Preston sprawled on the ground, out cold. He bent to feel his forehead. A fever burned Preston’s brow, but he breathed easily.

“Why are the White Knights here? And why are you here? What happened?”

Peter sighed. “That’s a long story. I don’t know how they found out where you were, but the Knights wanted to give you back to the police. They set off an EMP around here.” He shook his head. “I hope nobody got hurt by that.”

“I had the area cleared before we began,” the stranger said. “There shouldn’t be any injuries.”

Peter nodded. “Jarem and Kolar followed some kind of trail to this place, which is how we ended up here.” His face fell. “I wish you could’ve told me about this.”

Bruno glanced at the pokemon seated at the bar. Houdini, Sakura, and Aurum all looked as though they wanted to leave but didn’t dare draw attention to themselves, Jacqueline ignored the exchange and helped herself to the bottle of sake, and Benign watched with an unreadable expression.

“I’m sorry,” Bruno wrote, “The Elders didn’t want anyone to know because they feared it would be stopped.” He paused, and added, “It was to get me acquainted to the city. They thought if I spent time in an isolated area nearby, it’d help me build a tolerance to the city’s aura.”

Peter smiled at him, and Bruno’s chest fluttered. “It’s okay, I’m not mad. It was just startling, finding out you’ve been going to stuff like this for so long without me knowing. I thought we did everything together.” He embraced Bruno again. “And now that you’re back, it’ll be just like before. Together.”

The stranger stood and approached him. Though shadows hid most of his face, he recognized their glossy black fur and fox-like face.

“You look like Seven,” he said. As an afterthought, he wrote it down and showed it to them.

The robed figure chuckled and lifted its hood. Though the general shape and features of the face matched Seven’s, patches of pink goo disfigured its appearance. One eye peered out of a writhing bulge, and half of their jaw dripped off of their face.

“Seven’s my older sister,” he said in the human tongue. “So, is she their captive or their Grunt?”

“She’s an Admin,” Bruno wrote. “Who are you, and what happened to you?”

“My name is Nine.” He touched his face and said, “That last question is a very long story, and one I don’t care to tell.” He held out his hand. “Mind if we shake hands? I’d like to get to know the pokemon I spent half a fortune to rescue.”

Bruno took the outstretched hand. Nine’s grasp had the clammy sponginess of refrigerated pudding on half the palm, and the other half had the tingling warmth of fur. Bruno let go with a shiver. A tiny glob of pink goo clung to his fur, and it didn’t come off when he scraped it against the bar.

“Thank you for your time,” Nine said to the room, “However, I’m afraid I have other business to attend to. Good night, and stay safe. Who knows what the Rockets might be up to right now.”

Nine walked out the front door, and the other pokemon followed after him, Houdini first, then Aurum and Sakura leapt at the chance to leave. Benign left in their wake, and Jacqueline shook the last few drops of out the sake bottle before teleporting away.

Silence fell as Peter and Bruno watched the room clear. Jarem and Kolar tensed, and Bruno eyed them suspiciously.

“They told me you replaced me with them,” Bruno wrote. “They filmed a whole day of you around town with those two, doing everything we used to do.” 

Peter’s hands tightened around that note, and he shoved it into his pocket. “We were looking for you. We’ve been looking all this time, and we finally found you. Everything’s going to be alright now, you’re safe.”

“Are we going home now?” Bruno wrote.

“Yes, yes we are.” Tears ran down Peter’s face. “We’re going home.”

Jarem stepped forward. “You need to stay here. Elder Bayron will be here shortly, and he’ll take you to the Temple.”

“The Temple?” Bruno asked. “Why there?”

“You’re too unstable,” Kolar answered. “You’ll go crazy if you spend any more time here.”

Fear caressed Bruno’s throat like the tip of a knife. “Peter will be coming with me, right?”

Jarem and Kolar exchanged a glance. Peter looked at them and asked for a translation, and when he finished reading, he said, “I’ll try to talk the Commissioner into it, but I don’t think so. It’s a tough time for the police right now, so tough that they agreed to work with the White Knights. They even had a law shoved through Parliament to seal the deal.” Peter looked back at the two lucario. “It’ll be for just a little bit, and then you’ll be back. Everything will be fine.”

“And they’ll stay with you?” Bruno asked.

Peter shook his head. “They’d be a big help, but the Elder is taking them back too. They may send others to stay, but it’ll just be until you’re all better, I promise. It’ll be just like old times.”

Bruno stepped back. “No, no, I don’t want to go. I just got back. I want to spend time together, go see a movie, have some coffee and donuts. Can’t we just do that for a day? Maybe that’s all I need to get better, and I won’t have to go back. Please?”

Peter looked around him. “Translation?” he asked. “I can’t help if I don’t know what’s going on.”

Jarem and Kolar exchanged a glance. Together, they leapt forward, arms blazing with the power of aura. Jarem aimed a punch at Bruno’s chest, while Kolar grabbed at his throat. Bruno darted back, and his arms lit up with aura. He swept aside Kolar’s grab and rammed his elbow into Jarem’s stomach, driving all his aura and strength into the blow. Jarem doubled over and vomited onto the floor.

Blazing blue light grew into a sphere in Kolar’s hands. He flung it, and Bruno leapt aside, but it curved around and slammed him in the back. Kolar pounced onto him. Bruno grabbed a pointed stone on the ground and drove it into Kolar’s side. Blood gushed out of the wound and spattered onto Bruno’s fur. With a roar, Bruno rolled over, dragging Kolar beneath him, and slammed the stone into the back of Kolar’s head. The lucario slumped beneath him.

Jarem grabbed him from behind and dragged him to the ground. An arm wrapped around his throat, squeezing tight. As his lungs burned, Bruno bucked and drove his waist into Jarem’s gut. His arms jerked, and his grip loosened enough for Bruno to tuck his chin down, and when the arm squeezed again, Bruno breathed in. He clawed at the grip and battered at Jarem’s sides, but he couldn’t get Jarem off of him.

A heavy thunk echoed off the crumbling walls, and Jarem slid off of him. Bruno scrambled to his feet and found Peter standing over the limp body of Jarem with a wooden plank in his hand.

“I don’t know what happened,” Peter said, “So please tell me. We can work this out. It’ll all be okay.”

Bruno stared at the bodies on the floor and at Peter. Suspicion bubbled inside him like baking soda thrown onto acid, warring with the calming sensation that drew him towards Peter like a magnet.

He stepped forward, across the blood-soaked rocks. His foot slipped, and he wobbled, waving his arms to stay upright, but in that moment of vertigo, he imagined what would happen when Elder Bayron arrived and learned that he had stabbed a lucario. They’d never let him leave the Temple. He’d never see Peter again.

Tears stung his eyes as he ran out of the bar. Peter called after him, but his shouts faded into silence as Bruno lost himself in the winding alleyways. Darkness loomed around him, untouched by the dead street lamps standing sentinel over the forgotten streets.

By the time he stopped running, his lungs ached, and his legs gave out beneath him. He stared up at the starry sky. His mind wandered in a numb haze until a soft glow dimmed the stars.

Two figures came towards him, one carrying a flashlight, and both wearing robes. When they got closer, Bruno recognized Houdini. The other, their face hidden in darkness, guided the blind hypno by the hand.

“I didn’t expect to meet again so soon,” the stranger said. He lifted his hood. Nine smiled at him and offered a hand up. Bruno took it. He glanced at his hand, expecting more goop, but his fur was clean.

“I hid a tracker in your fur when we shook hands,” Nine said. “I was hoping to trace you back to the Temple and find a way to steal a lucario from there, but this proves far more convenient.”

Bruno’s mouth hung open in confusion, but before he could say anything, Houdini waved his pendulum. Purple light surrounded it like shimmering fire. Bruno’s eyes drooped, and he tumbled to the ground. He felt himself carried away before sleep took him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry, were you expecting Bruno to be happily reunited with his partner?
> 
> *cackles evilly*


	43. Chapter 43

Seven, clad in the disguise assigned to her, sat in front of a White Knight recruiter in a dank, dusty coffee shop tucked in a run-down corner of the city. Enough people filled the seats that a jumble of conversations drowned out their own. Blond hair fell past her shoulders, and she wore a lily white jacket, a white t-shirt, and blue jeans.

“So, Allison, why do you want to be a member of the White Knights?”

Seven sipped at her coffee. Though the bitter flavor made her nose wrinkle, she smiled and drank more.

“I want to make a difference,” she said. “The Rockets have been hurting people for years, and the police hasn’t stopped it. Now there’s someone who can, and I want to help.”

The recruiter, a tall, bald man with thin white eyebrows, a huge nose, and droopy green eyes, studied her and the papers in his hand. His brown leather jacket bulged outward, and the zipper stretched to its bursting point.

“It says you took six years of martial arts?”

“Yes sir, my dad wanted to make sure I could defend myself. I can provide training certificates.”

The man shook his head. “Pieces of paper don’t mean squat. You’ll be tested by a combat instructor later in the interview process.” The recruiter’s finger slid across the text as he read. “You have a Mareep and a Pidgeotto?”

“Yes sir. They aren’t that well trained.”

“Could be worse. The Knights have more pokemon than people, so it won’t be an issue.” The recruiter scratched at his eyebrows. “Computer programming? That’d be useful.”

Seven lowered her eyes and said, “I wasn’t that good at it. I know some C++ and HTML, but that’s about it.”

The recruiter shrugged. “You’d be surprised what counts as useful. What matters most to us is a willingness to learn, simply because it’s hard to find anyone with the skills we need.”

Seven beamed at him. “I’ll do whatever it takes.”

The recruiter returned her smile. “Good!” He folded up her resume and put it in his pocket. After chugging his cup of coffee, he crushed it in his hand and tossed it at the garbage. The crumpled cup bounced off the front and landed on the floor. Seven rushed over with her own empty cup, picked up the cup on the floor, and put them both in the can.

“Alright, next on the agenda is a tour of one of our facilities. We want you to see what you’re getting into before you commit to anything, since this is a very dangerous job, and a moment of indecision can cost you and other Knights their lives. Are you ready?”

“Yes sir!”

“Good. I have a car parked outside. Take the passenger seat.”

The recruiter opened the door for her and opened the car with his key fob. Two beeps directed Seven to a brown mini van. She got in, buckled up, and glanced in the back. Piles of fliers, posters, and shirts crowded the other seats, and underneath the piles of clothing, a corner of a metal box poked out.

The driver door swung open, and the recruiter clambered into his seat. The engine rumbled, and the van drove at a leisurely pace deeper into the outskirts of town. Tall townhouses with tiny squares of shaggy grass lined the streets, punctuated by a crowd of small specialty shops, barbers, and dentists. However, the occasional broken window and padlocked door suggested that the area had been abandoned, left behind as the Rockets tightened their grip on the city.

Silence filled the car, and Seven felt herself itching to fill it. She resisted at first, and then decided that silence would be more suspicious.

“It sucks, what the Rockets did,” Seven said while she looked at the buildings. “All these people left because they thought Rockets would come knocking on their door.”

“I feel more pity for those that had to stay behind,” said the recruiter.

Seven nodded and kept staring out the window. The van stopped in front of an old meat market with boarded-up windows. The recruiter stepped out, and Seven followed him inside.

“So, it’s through here?”

The recruiter walked past the counter towards the back entrance of the shop. A rusty cleaver sat on the wooden counter, and shards of fiberglass from the display cases littered the floor.

“If we were too easy to find, the Rockets would attack,” he said. “Thus, it’s necessary to make sure they don’t find us.”

A flicker of shadows was the only warning she had. Two hallways branched off from the main room of the meat market. Out of them sprang five men and a woman wearing Rocket uniforms. They rushed towards her, brandishing knives, batons, and fists. Seven reacted on instinct, grabbing the first fist that flew at her, pulling it forward, and pelting the man in the throat with the heel of her palm. He fell to the floor and made strangled choking sounds.

Two more grabbed her wrists. She twisted her arms, broke their grip, grabbed their wrists, and pulled them into each other. They fell in a tangle of limbs. Seven aimed a fast kick at their ribs.

Fiberglass crunched behind her. She ducked aside before a baton slammed into the back of her head. She heard rushing air as it flew past her ear. She raised her arms to parry the baton, but one of the men on the floor grabbed her ankle. She fell sideways as the baton slammed into her temple. Though the blow stung, she stayed conscious. She rolled over a Grunt on the floor and sprang to her feet.

Seven had two pokéballs on her belt, and four more tucked in her hair. She almost reached for Set, but instead, she grabbed the Mareep. She called it out on the counter. As she was about to give a command, a knife pressed against her throat. She flinched as cold steel brushed her skin.

Then, just as quickly, the knife was gone. When she turned around, the six attackers had taken off their Rocket uniforms. Underneath were the padded white robes of the Knights.

The recruiter patted her on the shoulder. “That was the physical exam,” he told her. “Sorry for making it so sudden, but we need to know how you handle a crisis.” He helped up the man on the floor that was still gasping for air. “You did better than I thought you would.”

Seven swore at herself. She had planned to understate her abilities, but her brain scrambled to work around it. “I’d still be dead.”

“True, but that’s to be expected when you’re that outnumbered. Come on, let’s get you some robes.”

Seven rubbed at her throat. Looking closer at their knives, she saw they were practice blades, dulled on both edges. The batons were made of hard rubber, the fiberglass on the floor had the edges smoothed out, and the rusty cleaver had a shiny sliver where the rusty edge was smoothed out.

“Wait, so, I have the job?”

“Yeah kid, you pass with flying colors. You’ll need more combat training, but you’ll be ready to go toe to toe with Rockets in no time.” 

He walked down the hall to the bathrooms. Seven almost followed him inside, but she stopped and stared at the men’s sign on the door.

The recruiter poked his head around the doorway. “It’s in here. Come on.”

Seven went inside. The recruiter walked up to one of the urinals and pulled on the pipe at the top. It popped loose, and the whole urinal fell to the side, revealing a hole just large enough to crawl through. The recruiter went in first. His jacket caught on the edges of the wall, but with some wriggling, he got his girth inside. Though Seven appeared much skinnier, her hair, bulging with all the contraband clipped inside of it, snagged on the wall. With a quick jerk of her head, she pulled it free and tumbled into a brightly lit room. One guard stood next to a metal detector, and another sat behind a conveyor belt with an x-ray scanner. Both wore the plain white masks of the White Knights. The room was cramped, with no way to walk around the detector, and only two feet of ceiling space over the eight-foot tall contraption.

“Make sure you don’t have any metal on you. Take your shoes off and put them on that belt, along with any bags, wallets, et cetera.”

Seven’s stomach sank. They had expected a metal detector, but she had counted on a way to walk invisibly around it. Now, her options were to crawl over the conveyor belt, which wouldn’t support her weight, or jump blind over the detector. Worse still, she had to make sure her hair, weighed down with all its contraband, didn’t hit the ceiling or the detector during the jump.

“Alright, gimme a moment.” She took off her shoes, and set them on the conveyor belt with her pokéballs. Her feet thanked her. The shoes, designed for human feet so they could pass through an x-ray, chafed at her toes and wobbled around the heel. With bare feet, she’d land silently on the metal floor on the other side. All she had to do was make the jump.

In an instant, Seven shrouded herself in invisibility while she made the illusion walk forward. Though darkness closed around her, she held the image of the metal detector and the ceiling, envisioned herself twirling through the air, arcing through the slender gap, twisting her back, flipping forward, landing on her feet, and standing straight. Like thread through a needle, she fit through the gap. Letting out a breath, she melded the illusion onto her and grabbed her belongings.

The recruiter threw his jacket onto the conveyor belt. Underneath, he had one of the WK t-shirts from the van. He had a far slimmer frame than the jacket suggested, lean with a touch of muscle. After donning the jacket, he slid a flat white mask over his face waved for Seven to follow.

“Allison, you’ll start out in training. It’ll mostly be combat, or maybe some programming if it looks like you’ll be useful there. You have a room assigned to you. They aren’t labeled, but you’ll know it by a picture of your face on the door. Once you get there, you’ll find a bottle of white-out on your desk and robes on your bed. Paint over the picture, hang it back on the door, and always keep your mask on while you’re here. There are no individuals here. Individuals act for selfish reasons, commit crimes, and game the systems society creates. Only by abandoning self-identity can we unite for the greater good. Is this understood?”

“Yes sir,” Seven said.

“Good. Your room is just down that hall,” he said pointing down a corridor lined with doors. “I have a file to report, but I’ll meet up with you once I’m done.”

With that, he strode to the left and vanished around a corner. Seven walked past the doorways, each the same as the last, until she found one with Allison’s face hanging from a thumb tack. 

White robes, padded at the shoulders, elbows, and wrists, sat on a freshly made bed. She threw off the jacket, shirt, pants, and underwear, all part of her disguise, and set them folded next to the door. The robes, despite their baggy appearance, clung tightly to her fur. The white mask refused to fit over her face. Either it had to tilt at a ludicrous angle to fit the contour of her face, or, if balanced precariously on its nose to mimic a human flatness, narrowed her field of view to two tiny holes. Instead, she tucked the mask into her hair and made an illusion of it over her face. 

Thus disguised, Seven turned her attention to the photo she had set on the desk. She took the bottle of white-out, unscrewed the cap, and poured it out onto the photo. With the brush, she spread it around until every speck of color disappeared. The white-out, still soggy, smudged her fur when she tried to pick it up.

A few minutes later, a knock came at the door. The recruiter, recognizable only by the bulge his jacket made beneath his robes, nodded at her.

“Good. I’ll take that photograph. It’s the contract you make to have no identity, nothing that marks you as any different from any other Knight. You are no longer Allison, but a Knight among many. Live by that code, and you’ll never stray from the path of good.”

Seven nodded and handed him the photograph, which was still slightly damp. He dropped it in a Ziploc bag, sealed it up, and tucked it in a pocket beneath his robe.

“Your training begins now,” he said. “Welcome to the White Knights.”


	44. Chapter 44

Ensconced beneath an empty suburbia on the city outskirts, buried deep in the land abandoned when the Rockets terrorized the public, Nine’s main headquarters, carved out of sewer systems, old subway lines, and maintenance shafts, busied itself with the imminent attack on Team Rocket.

Nine oversaw it all, giving orders for the acquisition of weapons and recruits, drafting battle plans with his officers, and collecting funds and information from a network of supportive citizens moved by his speeches.

Nine’s public office, at the heart of the Knights’ facilities, was engineered to match every facet of his doctrine. The room was a perfect circle, without a single shadow cast by the parallel light pouring out of the ceiling. All furniture, from his desk to the pots, widened at the base, and chairs forewent the conventional four-legged design for a single fat stump. Even his desk had no room for legs beneath it, and the drawers could only be opened together, with the bottom one sliding across the floor. The floors and walls were white concrete, and every surface of the room, the plants included, matched in color. The constant uniformity made the room disconcertingly blank, and some Knights stumbled on furniture they couldn’t see.

Nine studied the profile on new recruits that the white-masked man handed him. Seven folders were tucked inside a plastic binder, each labeled with a randomized string of numbers. Each document had names, gender, and age redacted, to such a degree that even the length of the original content could not be surmised. And yet, despite the white-washing of these profiles, that randomized number remained necessary for management of the Knights.

“It is unfortunate that we all have unique capabilities,” Nine mused to the man standing before him. “It would be better for everyone if we were all the same, but it’s an impossibility borne of an imperfect world. Failing that, one would hope that we could all at least share the same capabilities, but in evolving to fit into a society, different classes emerged to address early civilization’s different needs. Thus, inequality in aptitude became a genetic disposition that has endured beyond the point they became a hindrance to cooperation.”

The recruiter bowed his head. A bit of his bald scalp showed above his mask before he hastily pushed it back up. “We shall try our best to overcome these difficulties.” He cleared his throat, and continued, “No progress can be made if we simply assume a thing is impossible and never attempt to challenge that assumption.”

“Aptly put,” Nine told him. He leafed through the profiles. “Did anyone stand out to you?”

“The third one has experience in a Pokémon Center,” he said. “I believe you were interested in that, were you not?”

“Yes,” Nine said. “In the coming days of strife, medical professionals will play an invaluable role in our fight against the Rockets. Thank you for bringing this to my attention.”

“Of course, sir.” The man paused, and added, “The fifth one’s a good fighter. Took out half of our men and got a pokemon out before they got her at knifepoint.”

“Half? It’s a team of six, correct?”

“Yeah. She – my apologies, I mean they were caught off guard, but they reacted quickly. None of the testers suffered permanent injury.”

Nine found the appropriate folder and read through it. Nothing in her history seemed unusual, and her resume suggested any number of uses.

“Stressful situations can bring unexpected results out of people,” he said.

“We’ll train them carefully,” the recruiter said. “In time, they may be a great asset in the field.”

At the end of the file is the whited-out photograph. He kept them to fit with his doctrine of uniformity and sacrificing personal identity, but they left a distasteful bulge in the folders.

As he closed the folder, a glint of black caught his eye. Looking closer at the picture, Nine saw a glossy black hair embedded in the white-out. 

“Do you have anything else to report?” Nine asked.

“No sir.”

“Then you may leave.”

Once the door locked itself behind the recruiter, Nine peeled the hair out of the white-out. Four inches of glossy black hair curled up on itself. The hair nagged at Nine as something out of place, too short and too long all at once, and uncomfortably familiar. 

With a letter opener, Nine eased the crumbling ink off the photograph until the recruit’s head of blonde hair was exposed. His skin tingled, and the blobby mess of his chin bubbled with excitement.

“No, hold on,” Nine told himself. “It might be my own hair.” But even as he said it, the thought that his hair happened to get buried suggested that the hair had to get stuck in while the white-out was wet eroded at that possibility.

Then he considered his security. Though she could maintain illusions indefinitely, Seven couldn’t slip anything metal past his detectors, and the baggage went through a thorough inspection. He checked the file, and found a complete list of her belongings, down to the discarded clothing and their contents, along with the x-ray images. From an old, battered stick of lip balm to every card and photograph in her wallet, nothing appeared remotely suspicious.

Frowning, Nine put the files away and left his office. A few turns away, an elevator requiring keycard access sat at the end of a long hall. Two Knights stood at either side of it, with thick padding built into their robes and assault rifles at their sides.

Nine’s mushy flesh writhed, and out of its depths, a card oozed out of his wrist and into his right hand. He nodded to the two guards, inserted the card in the reader, and took the elevator down. Only the softest of whirring sounds broke the silence as he traveled miles below the city’s surface.

The elevator slid to a graceful stop, and the doors snapped open. White-cloaked figures rushed across the hallways, darting in and out of rooms with tablets and engineering equipment. Nine inspected the rooms as he passed, poking his head into rooms full of pokemon center healing machines, isolation chambers with bed-ridden pokemon, and rooms crammed with biomedical assays.

As one of the Knights passed him, one with a silver pin on his shoulder to designate him as head of R&D, Nine snagged his shoulder. “Any progress?” he asked.

“Only steps backwards,” they replied bitterly. “Two more died, and all of them complain of headaches no matter what we give them.”

Nine nodded. “Do what you can for them. It’s unfortunate, but sacrifice will be necessary to bring about the world we seek.”

“Is there anything else I can do for you, sir?”

“Yes. I need to speak with Bruno. Have the room cleared, and make sure there’s no recording.”

The Knight looked up from his tablet. Though the robes revealed nothing, Nine knew that the infernape and chatot beneath those robes must be giving him confused frowns.

“As you wish, sir. I’ll notify security immediately.”

The Knight sped away, and the uneven swish of their robes hinted at an inhuman stride. Nine went into a few of the rooms. Sweating, pained faces stared blankly at him as he asked if there was anything he could do to help them.

“End it,” one whispered. “The voices, too many voices.”

Nine shuddered, asked after an increase in the sedatives, and went to the bunker at the end of the hall. Thick steel doors with another keycard terminal and two Knights blocked the way in. After showing his ID and inserting it into the reader, the doors crawled apart with loud clanking noises. Pneumatic pistons popped and hissed, and electric motors whined.

Four Knights greeted him on the other side. Each had an arsenal worth of weapons strapped to their robes.

“As requested, we are vacating the room,” one of them said. “We will be waiting outside the door in case you need us.”

Nine thanked them and asked, “Has he been fed recently?”

“Just gave him his lunch half an hour ago,” another guard answered. They fidgeted on their feet and said, “I hate to ask this of you, but could I have a short break? My mind feels foggy, like I’ve got a bad cold or something.”

“Take however much time you need,” Nine said. “I would not want you getting sick because you worked too hard.”

“Thank you sir,” the Knight said with a bow. “I’ll come back as soon as I’m better. Shouldn’t take too long.”

Before he could think to ask more, the Guard ran off and disappeared around a corner. The other three walked past him and stood with the two by the door. With a shrug, Nine walked in, and the doors closed soundlessly behind him.

The bunker had concrete walls, floor, and ceiling. In the center, a hazy blue plasma barrier encircled a furnished space with a table, two chairs, and a bed. An empty plate and a fork sat on the table next to the morning newspaper and a laptop.

Bruno, sitting at the table, looked up from the laptop and scowled at him. “Here for more samples?”

“No, I have questions.”

He closed the laptop. “Fine, just get it over with.”

Nine walked up to the translucent barrier. A part of him urged him further forward, into the light, into oblivion. Just another step, and even his monstrous body couldn’t put him back together.

Instead, he held his ground an inch away from the barrier. “Was Seven planning to infiltrate the White Knights?”

Bruno’s eyes widened, and he looked away. “I wouldn’t know. They never told me anything.”

Nine smiled. “I already found her.”

Bruno stiffened, but he kept his face impassive. “Why would I care? She kept me in that hellhole.” He glanced at him and asked, “Are you planning to kill her?”

“I don’t,” he said. “But the Rockets probably will.”

“They won’t,” Bruno said with a shake of his head. “She’s an Admin.”

“They’re using her,” Nine said. “And when they’re done with her, they’ll throw her away like the tool they think she is. You know how the Rockets treat pokemon, and why should they treat her any different?”

His words drove a wedge through Bruno’s mask. A grimace twisted his mouth, and his hands clenched into fists. “I don’t know anything,” he said flatly.

Nine stroked the patchy fur on his arms as he considered his next words. “She and I, we were both put through hell,” he said. “We were experimental weapons meant to assassinate the leaders within the Rockets’ command structure. From an early stage, we endured genetic modification that plagued us with tumors. I died, and I was brought back by being fused with ditto cells, only to suffer more tests. Seven underwent medical treatments to become their perfect assassin, from vocal cord implants to adrenaline injections and muscle enhancements. They taught her how to slip past security and incapacitate key targets, all with the hope of using her.” He laughed bitterly. “I suppose working with the Rockets seems like the best way to strike back against the system that tortured her, it’ll only get her killed in the end.”

Nine leaned far enough forward that he could feel the hairs on his muzzle frying in the plasma. Bruno hesitantly met his eyes, and he rubbed at one of his ears.

“I, on the other hand, am using what I endured to help all pokemon.” He gestured towards the door. “Want to know a secret? Every Knight you’ve ever seen is a pokemon.” He waited until Bruno’s eyes widened. “Around half of the Knights are pokemon in disguise, with chatot to speak for them. More pokemon every day become sentient, because I tweaked every healing machine in the world.” Nine glanced around the room, as if to assure himself no one was listening. “The same experiment to make us smarter, I perfected and wrote into a software update for every pokemon center. I also acquired a few machines and healed any pokemon I can find.”

Nine cleared his throat. He smiled at Bruno, who stared at him with rapt attention. “So, Bruno, please tell me everything you know about Seven so I can help her.

Bruno tripped over his own tongue in his haste to tell everything. It was less than he had hoped for, since Nine didn’t share any details with him, but the little he knew lined up with an infiltration at this time.

When he got back to his office, Nine called HR and had Seven put under tight surveillance, and another call to security tightened access to all lab facilities, weapon repositories, and VIP rooms.

He took out the file and held the scratched photo in his hands. The beaming blonde-haired face of Amanda looked up at him behind a reflected sheen of light.

“Your move, sister.”


	45. Chapter 45

Under the cover of her illusion, Seven released Thoth in her bedroom. Though she couldn’t see it, the porygon spun in the air in front of her, searching for any optical signals. The crackle of plasma traced its invisible movements.

“No light detected,” the program said. “Where am I?”

“We’re on the mission, in my quarters within the White Knight compound,” Seven said. “You can’t see anything because you’re invisible right now.”

It spun to face the sound of her voice. “By creating a field of photon transmitters, I presume. I never knew Team Rocket had that kind of tech.”

“There is a computer in front of me,” she said. “Can you get in without a trace and find the cameras in this room?”

Thoth moved up to the computer and touched it. “Yes sir, I will begin immediately.”

When the porygon phased into the computer, Seven released the illusion and put one over the screen. After a moment, Thoth said, “All done. I have reprogrammed the camera in your room to play simulated footage.”

“Good. It will only need to be for a moment.” Seven took two more pokéballs out of her hair. Set and Number Fourteen looked around at the room and settled their gaze on her. The haunter circled around her, examining her new appearance, while the ditto bunched itself up into a ball and stared with its beady eyes.

Seven removed the false mask and made Allison’s face appear. “Fourteen, mirror.”

The ditto writhed and bubbled until it matched her height. Swirling around her, the pink mass etched the features of Allison Caldwell, wearing the hooded white robes. As Seven strapped the mask onto Fourteen’s face, Seven reflected that the identical, concealing uniforms made hiding in the crowd trivial.

“Your mission,” she told them, “Is to stay here and make it appear as though I am doing my programming work while I am searching the building. Fourteen is incapable of speaking and cannot be touched. If anyone finds out I’m gone, make sure word of it doesn’t leave this room. Got it?”

Set nodded eagerly, while Thoth typed affirmative on the computer. Fourteen stared without a twitch. Seven went to the computer and held the tablet strapped to her arm by the monitor.

“Can you provide mobile support?”

“Within a half a mile radius,” came the response on her tablet. “Any further, and you’ll have to find a terminal connected to this system.”

“It’ll do. Your top priority is making sure everything on this end goes perfectly. I’ll be back in four hours. Three quick knocks followed by a long one, that’s my signal. Have the cameras distracted within five seconds.” Seven examined herself in the mirror and tweaked the illusion, adding two inches to her height and a touch of bulk to the robes. “Are there any cameras in the hall?”

“Two,” Thoth answered using the computer’s speaker. “Do you want them both disabled?”

“Yes, but only when the hallway is clear.”

“It’s clear now.”

Seven slipped into the hallway and went into the nearest bathroom. After five minutes, Thoth edited the recordings so it would appear as though she came from a different room, went to the bathroom, and went off into the compound. In the meantime, Seven checked the inventory clipped to her hair. The bottle of poison hung behind her ear, with the cap tightly screwed shut. The tiny black EMP sat against her neck, where it wouldn’t get jostled around, her emergency rations stayed near the end of her hair, pressed against her back by her robes, and the tyranitar’s pokéball was clipped over her right shoulder. On her belt, she had a knife and the black rod for Colson, when he arrived.

On her tablet, Thoth pulled up a map of the compound, taken from the network archives. A single floor sprawled out over a mile of abandoned suburban tunnels and construction projects, with exits and storage space poking out above the surface in old warehouses and boarded-up businesses. Thin tendrils of tunnels snaked into the city proper, connecting little dots of territory. Seven wondered if one of those had been the warehouse she had raided under Admin Fisher, but the map had no street labels, only a compass and generic Warehouse C titles over each room.

With nothing more informative than “Barracks B” and “Storage Site A” to guide her, Seven peered into every open room she came across. The White Knights had shooting ranges, padded combat rooms, cafeterias, computer rooms bustling with monitors and cables, and countless storage rooms crammed with wooden crates. Whenever she could, Seven popped a crate open and found dried rations, stockpiles of bullets and guns, spare robes, construction supplies, posters and other propaganda, and the odd cluster of Pokémon Healing Units, but never any caches of pokéballs.

At a cursory estimate, Seven guessed the White Knights had somewhere around eight thousand members, a troubling figure that doubled the size of the Rockets’ ranks. However, even in the combat rooms, she didn’t see a single pokemon anywhere. Trainees battled with weapons or hand-to-hand without the assistance of pokemon, and the shooting galleries only had bullets flying at human mannequins. Despite the healing units, there wasn’t a single pokemon in sight, let alone the alakazam.

As she passed a rank of Knights striding down a hall, a thought struck her. Anything could hide beneath those masks and robes. For all she knew, she could’ve passed the alakazam by a dozen times. With a deep breath, she collected her thoughts and realized that a pokemon as large as an alakazam, even concealed beneath bulky robes, couldn’t hide its size. 

“Any way to track psychic types?” she typed into the tablet while she walked.

“No,” Thoth replied. “I’ve tried searching all camera footage, but I haven’t seen a single pokemon at any point in the last three months.”

Seven frowned. Nothing added up, not the fact they took her pokemon after the second day, not the healing machines in storage, nor the complete absence of pokemon in combat training. Where were all the pokemon?

In her distraction, she almost missed the narrow hallway hidden in shadow. Seven stiffened and walked past without turning her head. Once she was out of sight of the four guards stationed at the elevator, she stopped and typed into her tablet.

“That elevator wasn’t on the map.”

“There’s a sophisticated lock on that door, with a strong firewall keeping me out,” Thoth said. “You’ll need to find a keycard for that lock if you want to get down there.”

Seven studied the map. A few turns away, at the map’s center, was a room labeled “Center Office.” From the general orientation she got on her day one tour, she remembered that the room belonged to the commander of the White Knights. 

A few turns later, she found the office. Thoth found a camera and brought up footage on her tablet. On his desk, tantalizingly out of reach, was the keycard.

When the man glanced down to open up his desk drawers, Seven concentrated, grimacing with the effort to duplicate an object seen through a camera in its real world location. After a few seconds, a copy shimmered into view, and the real card vanished. Sweat beaded down her face when she realized that all he had to do was turn it over to see it as a fake. Even looking at it through her screen, she could tell it was a fuzzy sham at best, appearing real only at a glance. 

Her breath caught in her throat as she waited for the man to look at his keycard. Agonizing minutes passed as he typed on his laptop, made a phone call, and stood to leave. Without looking down, the man fumbled for the card, fingers brushing past the invisible card, and finding the sham. His fingers closed around the fake and tucked it in his pocket. She let out a breath, and stiffened when he went towards the door. In a heartbeat, she was wrapped in darkness, heart pounding in her chest and skin teased by the points of scalpels as he walked past her.

Still invisible, Seven told Thoth to rig the cameras, threw an illusion over the doorway, and rushed inside. Taking deep breaths, Seven staggered up to the desk and grabbed the real keycard. She put it in her pocket, but Thoth made the tablet vibrate.

“I can imitate the keycard’s signal,” it said. “You can make an image of a keycard, right?”

“Yes,” Seven typed back. “We should leave this one here, in case he notices he’s missing his keycard.”

“Interesting,” Thoth typed back. “You’re not using any tech I can sense. The manipulation of that many photons would require pure black-body interference, equipment to process incoming and outgoing electrons, and light sources to perfectly imitate in real time the desired optical output. In addition, you’re did this remotely, without any access to the targeted area. The only logical conclusion I can think of is that you’re using a pokemon, a psychic of some kind. But that leaves the problem of another psychic detecting it. None of this makes sense.”

“Focus on the mission,” Seven told Thoth, “And leave that to me.”

“But I can’t properly project mission outcomes if I don’t know all the variables-”

“Then do the best you can. That information is classified.”

After a moment, Thoth said, “Understood.”

Wrapping herself in the image of the commander, Seven approached the four guards at the end of the hallway. As the thought of a password crossed her mind, they stepped aside, granting her access to the terminal. She conjured an illusory keycard and pressed it into the slot while Thoth sent it a false signal. The terminal’s green light lit up, and the elevator doors opened.

During the descent, Thoth said, “The signal’s getting too weak. I won’t be able to reach you.”

“Then I’ll find a computer down there.”

“That won’t work. The system is completely isolated, otherwise I would’ve found it while I was in the commander’s office. Whatever’s down there, even his private computer can’t touch it.”

Cold realization washed over her like a bucket of ice water. “Then how the hell am I getting back up there?”

The tablet flickered, and the words “Holy shit” appeared on the screen before the connection with Thoth died out.

A minute later, the elevator stopped. Seven held her breath as the doors slid open. Clad in her illusion, she calmly walked out into the hallway and glanced back at the elevator. She heaved a sigh of relief when she saw it didn’t demand a keycard to head back up. 

Throngs of robed figures rushed through the hallways and gave her quick nods as they passed. One Knight walked up to her and bowed in greeting. “Good to see you again, sir. There’s nothing new to report, and the conditions of the test subjects, though poor, have remained stable since you were last here.”

Seven froze up, but after a moment, she remembered watching recordings of their commander speaking. Clearing her throat, she made an illusion to imitate the man’s deep, soft voice.

“Thank you. Are their any changes you think need to be made?”

The figure paused, and worry slithered over Seven like a boa, ready to squeeze her ribs to powder. He said, “The bedsheets are getting a bit dusty. Perhaps they should be washed.”

“See to it,” she said. 

The Knight started to leave, but he turned back and asked, “Is there anything else I can help you with?”

Seven shook her head. “No, I just wish to observe.”

“Yes sir. Let me know if you need anything.” With that, he ran off. Seven watched, and the shifting of his robes with each stride nagged at her mind. It seemed incongruous, as if the man’s shins were too long and the knees came up to where his hips should be. Looking around, she saw more peculiarities, hulking figures that nearly reached the ceiling and midgets with oversized heads.

As she walked down the hall, sweating beneath an illusion of command, Seven felt a familiar sensation brush her mind, a heaviness and bitterness to the air. She followed it to another door flanked by four guards. Without her keycard, she wouldn’t get past them, but even this close, she knew what she would find beyond the door.

Leaving Bruno’s door for later, Seven turned away to explore more of the White Knight’s secret operations.


	46. Chapter 46

Thoth, who was running simulations of an amateur coder to finish Seven’s assignment, brought up the video footage of the hallway outside the door. The White Knights’ commander rounded a corner and approached the room.

“Holy shit,” Thoth said. “It’s him. He’s coming.”

Set drifted out of a wall, turned up-side-down, and stared at the computer. “Who’s coming?”

“Their commander! He must have figured everything out somehow. No, that doesn’t make sense, he’s alone. He must suspect something. Anyways, we’re screwed. I don’t see any way out of this. If we had some kind of device to simulate her voice, we could insert it in the ditto, but ditto can’t speak, and the moment it tried, we’d be found out for sure.”

Thirty feet of hallway remained between the commander and the door. Set’s eyes lit up, and the ghost chuckled to himself.

“This is no time for jokes!” Thoth hissed. “We need to think of something fast.”

“I’ve got a perfect idea! It’ll work for sure.”

Thoth glanced at the door. “Fine, we’ll go with your plan, but first, you have to make a pact.”

“A pact?”

“You know how to use destiny bond. Use it on me, and swear that you won’t mess this up. If anything goes wrong, you’ll be destroyed. Got it?”

A smile split Set’s face in two. His cackle dimmed the lights and made a chilly wind swirl through the room.

“Don’t you remember? You already tried that trick on me.”

“I – I did? Shoot, I should’ve accounted for past versions of myself. Did you at least do it right last time?”

“Nope! I got barfed out of a human without any pants on, and we got shot at by dozens of police officers.”

Thoth’s clock speed dipped as he took in the absurdity of that comment. “I’m really glad I don’t have any memory backups.”

The commander was a few steps away from the door handle. “Whatever you’re going to do,” Thoth said, “Do it now!”

The lights went out, and the computer’s monitor turned off. The computer itself, buried beneath the desk, stayed on. Thoth watched the room through the camera, which still had power.

“Good thinking,” Thoth said. “A bit silly, when you get down to it, but this way, I can simulate Allison’s voice.”

“That wasn’t me,” Set said.

“Wait, it’s not?” Thoth scoured the systems for digital control of the electrical systems and found the power to their room disabled. “The commander’s doing this, but why?”

From the hallway cameras, Thoth saw the commander looking at a black tablet. No, not black – a live video feed of Allison’s room.

“I don’t get it,” Thoth said. “Is he trying to see how he’ll react?”

“Well, shouldn’t we open the door?” Set asked. “That’s what a normal person would do.”

“Yes, but he might ask questions, or try to engage in a conversation. What do we do then?”

“I still have my idea,” Set said. “Come on, let me try it out.”

“We shouldn’t take unnecessary risks. Just wait and see if he goes away.”

Set’s eyes glittered in the darkness as he beamed at the computer. Thoth checked the video feed, but Set was invisible to the cameras. “You told me I couldn’t mess this up. So, I’m not going to mess this up by sitting around and making us look suspicious.”

“No, Set, stop! We can’t risk it!”

A wet gurgle came in reply. And then Set, with Allison’s voice, said, “Huh, this feels weird.”

“What the hell are you doing? Don’t open that door!”

“I’m reaching for the doorknob,” Set said in a mocking tone.

“I command you to stop!”

“My fingers are on the doorknob.”

“Are you listening to me?”

The door jerked and rattled. “Huh, it’s locked.”

“Oh thank God,” Thoth said. “Alright, now we can stay put and wait until he goes away.”

“Hey, is anyone there?” Set shouted at the door. “The lights are out and my door is locked. Can anyone get it open?”

“Keep it down!” Thoth hissed at him. “You’re going to get him to come in here!”

“Is Team Rocket attacking? Should I kick the door down? Hello? Anyone listening? I’m a little stuck in here!”

“Don’t make me come out there and zap you!”

With a click, the lights came back on, and the monitor lit up. The commander turned away from the door and walked back down the hall.

“Wait, that’s it?”

“What’s it?” Set asked.

“He’s gone.”

“Aww, I wanted to try out my new trick. Feels squishy, but I kinda like it!”

“What feels squishy?” Thoth looked out of the monitor. The ditto, disguised as Allison, stood by the door. “Where are you?”

The ditto turned, grinned at him, and waved. “In here! This is way better than possessing a human. I can do whatever I want to the innards, check it out!”

Fourteen’s chest split open in a horrifying array of purple tentacles, dripping with green mucus. Then the flesh curled up on itself and seamlessly formed the Knights’ robes.

“This is no time for games,” Thoth said. “Seven’s trapped in a restricted access area of the facility, and I need to get down there so I can get her back up that elevator.

“I can find her quick enough,” Set said. He scratched his head with one hand, and the fingers sank into Fourteen’s skull. “I can probably bring you through the vents.”

“You shouldn’t stray too far. There are psychics in this facility, at least an alakazam, maybe more, and we have no idea where they are. If you get too close to them, you’ll raise the alarm.

“If I was a gengar, sure, but I’m too small for them to notice. Trust me, it’ll be a cakewalk.”

“We can’t risk it,” Thoth said. “Also, the lower levels vent themselves separately from this facility. To access their vents, we would need to leave, find wherever the vents are on the outside, and navigate them without raising an alarm. It would take too long.”

“We’ll go down the elevator.”

“Not possible. There are four guards stationed at the terminal, at the end of a long hallway. There’s nowhere to hide.”

Set grinned and stretched his face. Fourteen’s blobby flesh stretched like hot tar.

“I’m hiding right now.”

“My records show that the commander is the only one on this level with permanent access to that area. Anyone else has to have his permission for a temporary visit.”

“Then we’ll go disguised as him. Simple!”

“Simple? We already did that. Do you think the guards wouldn’t notice that their commander hadn’t gone back up when we walk up to them?”

“Probably not, but do you have a better idea?”

Thoth checked the simulations he ran of the most probable means of getting down there and found all chances of success in single digits. Set’s ludicrous plan had a whopping twelve percent chance, if they waited for the next shift of guards.

“This is going to be suicide,” Thoth said.

Set roared with laughter. “Suicide? I can’t die, and if you kick the bucket, they’ll just make a new one. Hell, I don’t think you can kill this blob either. I’ve been in here long enough to kill a dragonite, and this thing isn’t even tired.”

“You can still be destroyed,” Thoth said.

“True, but you can’t die if you’re already dead. Seems like fun, crossing over to the great beyond and all that stuff humans say happens to you after they die.”

“You don’t mind at all?”

“Nope!” Set grabbed his head and twisted it up-side-down. The flesh knit itself back into place, leaving a hairy collar around his neck, eyes where his mouth should be, and a waxy stump for hair. He waved his arms around and took a few dizzy steps forward. “Hey, look, I’m doing a headstand!” 

“Stop that, we’re getting off track.” He brought up pictures of the commander on the computer. Without having to worry about facial features, Fourteen made a passable attempt at imitating the image, except it copied the exact dimensions and had the commander’s silver badge on the wrong shoulder. 

Set, now stuck in a body ten inches tall, jumped and waved at Thoth from the floor. “Wow, you would not believe all the insane stuff that happens in this body when it changes!” Set called in a high-pitched, squeaky voice. “This thing’s cells ate themselves!”

Thoth flipped the image and had Fourteen match it. Then he had Set make Fourteen expand. After some effort, the ditto bubbled up, and a life-sized commander, garbed in his robes of office and hidden behind the plain white mask, pinched and poked at the flabby folds of the robes.

“What else do you think I can make?” Set asked. “Ooh! I could be Giovanni!”

“Change it, and I will electrocute you.”

Set held up his hands. “Hey, I’m joking. Put away your zappy things before someone gets hurt.”

Thoth sighed and checked the hallways. The commander was back, and he was already halfway down the hall.

“You have got to be kidding me,” Thoth said with a groan.

Set chuckled and asked, “What is it? Is the commander back?”

“Yes.”

With a giggle, Set looked around the room. “Should I try hiding under the bed, or are we going to clobber him over the head?”

“Are you seriously rhyming at a time like this?”

Set crossed his eyes, and blinked. “Oh, sweet! I wasn’t even trying for that, what a feat!”

“Just do something, he’s by the door!”

“At the door, or before?”

“No, a little bit off. And stop rhyming, it’s bringing up search results for Wordsworth on my browser. He stopped by another room. Hold on, I’ll check his tablet.”

Thoth inserted himself into the computer and jumped into the cameras. From there, he latched onto the tablet and examined the screenshot. It read, “Thoth, are you there? Please disable the cameras in the hallway so I can get back in.”

Pure shock rattled the porygon’s CPU. In its confusion, it overrode the cameras, replaced the footage, and informed Seven. She transformed, walked into the room, and stopped dead when confronted by the commander.

“So, you made it back? Aww, we did all this for jack.”

Seven stiffened, plucked a knife from thin air, and plunged it into the ditto’s chest. The knife slid out of the goopy flesh and hit the floor.

“That’s Fourteen,” Thoth said. “We were about to come down the elevator for you, and speaking of, how the heck did you get out?”

“The security’s one-way. I didn’t need the card down there.”

Thoth’s inner screaming made itself manifest through a brief flicker on the screen. Then the program said, “At least you made it back before anything else happened.”

Seven’s eyes narrowed. “Did something happen while I was gone?”

Thoth explained the commander’s appearance and the black-out. By the end, Seven was sitting on the bed, rubbing her temples with one hand.

“He knows about the Mirage project and suspects I’m here,” she said. “That’s the only explanation.”

“I have no data on that project.”

“Nevermind. For now, we have to lie low. I’ve learned as much as I can, and once Admin Colson gets here, we can plan our next move.”

Thoth glanced at Set, who was juggling his own feet and ears torn off of the commander disguise, and decided not to predict how long this mission would take.


	47. Chapter 47

Nine studied the door to Allison Caldwell’s room before turning down the hallway. Allison pulled the doorknob, but it wasn’t the wild, desperate yanking he had expected. No, it was a tamer testing, accompanied by curious, mildly concerned questions. No light shone in the room. He had taken careful pains to make sure even the computers and cameras wouldn’t provide the slightest glimmer of light. And yet, the occupant of that room remained calm in absolute darkness.

Shaking his head, Nine dismissed Allison as a decoy and ran through the list of recent recruits. Questions nagged his thoughts. Why use a decoy when he might have never known? Did they want him to suspect that Seven was here? Did he just tip his hand by making such an obvious test? A shiver shot through his gelatinous flesh, and an eye darted towards Allison’s door as he turned a corner.

Wandering through the hallways, Nine considered his questions. The Professor had been careful to keep all information on him separate from the lab’s main files, and he had been the only one aware of his existence. Did Giovanni somehow wring the truth out of him before he died, or find his hidden bunker? And even having all that, how did he find Nine in the first place? The only time he had revealed his identity was to the police.

His thoughts snapped back to that meeting, and those present. Commissioner Mason, Officer Peter, and three lucario – the latter had no reason to help Team Rocket, and Peter had plenty of reason to hate the Rockets. If Gregory was a Rocket mole, it would certainly explain the police bungling at Stonebough.

The thought drew a drooping frown on his face. It’s entirely possible the police could stab him in the back if that were the case, and all they’d need for an excuse is the illegal use of an EMP.

His hand reached into a pocket and closed around some lint. Poking around, he found that his keycard for the elevator was missing. He remembered grabbing it, but his agitation made him think he could have forgotten it.

Striding quickly, he returned to his room and found the keycard on his desk. With a sigh of relief, he pocketed it and decided to pay the labs a visit. If one of the subjects – no, volunteers recovered, he could end this farce.

When he arrived at the elevator, a set of guards fresh on the shift parted and bowed. With a swipe, he was descending. Thoughts gnawed at his mind, and he ground his teeth. The flesh on his chest bubbled like boiling tar, and the illusion under his robes dispersed. With some measured breaths, he hardened his flesh and rebuilt the image behind the mask. Layers put a safety net beneath a careless slip.

The R&D Director approached him the moment the doors opened. He hastily bowed and asked, “Back so soon, sir?”

Nine stiffened. Reflex almost made him say he hadn’t been down, but he strangled the words in his throat. Instead, he said, “There is little that requires my attention above.”

The director nodded. “Would you like to speak with Bruno, sir? He just had his afternoon meal.”

Nine nodded. “I have some new questions. Perhaps this time, I will learn something of use.”

“Very well, I’ll have everything prepared.”

A minute later, Nine walked through the thick metal doors, crossed the empty floor, and stopped in front of Bruno’s cage. Plasma crackled, and the floor vibrated beneath his feet. Bruno sat in front of an empty plate and stared blankly at a computer screen.

“Are you having a pleasant day?” he asked.

Bruno’s eyes slid up to meet his. He shrugged and asked, “Yours?”

“Quite vexing, actually. I have quite a few problems on my mind right now, one of which is that Seven somehow got down here.”

Bruno flinched, and his eyes widened. A grin spread across his face, and his eyes shone in the plasma. Nine noted with satisfaction that the surprise was unfeigned.

“Here in this room?”

Nine chuckled. “You’d know better than I.”

Bruno’s smile wavered, but he bounced in his seat. “You’ll never catch her. She slipped past a whole prison guard at Stonebough, and she’s slipped past your security too.”

“I wonder about that,” Nine said. “The Stonebough incident strikes me as odd. Why did the police activate the flooding system? They had the firepower to take them head-on at the gate. Instead, they sealed the prisoners in and gave them the perfect cover for their escape.”

“Police officers would have died stopping the breakout,” Bruno answered, “And there’s no guarantee that they could stop them.”

Nine shrugged. “I suppose there’s no real proof there. I’m more interested in how Team Rocket figured out that I know about the Mirage Project.” 

Bruno opened his mouth, but Nine talked over him. “There are only four groups of people who know about the Mirage Project. Professor Martin is dead. Team Rocket has the files from his public computers, but I doubt they found his private stash. The Justice Committee could only be more tight-lipped about their military secrets if they had their mouths sewn shut. And last, there’s me and the few police officers I told in utmost secrecy. Now, unless they thought a traitor or a Justicar leads the White Knights, they have to know I was involved, and the only five living beings that know my secret are Commissioner Mason, Officer Peter, Elder Bayron, and the two lucario Jarem and Kolar.”

Bruno flinched at the second name and growled at the last two. Nine studied his reactions before continuing. “The lucario have no love for Team Rocket and its pokemon as tools agenda, no other police officer knows of the meeting, and the room was checked for bugs and psychic tampering before the meeting. That leaves two options.”

Bruno’s hackles rose, but he stayed silent. Nine said, “Peter has too little influence, which leaves the Commissioner as the most probable mole. Do you disagree?”

The lucario frowned for a moment. “How do you know they know about you?”

“They left a trap, a single hair, pointing at a single person. To test the theory, I turned out the lights, and nothing happened.”

“If they already knew about you, why lay the trap?”

Nine sighed and took a step back. “I’m missing too many pieces. Nothing fits. No explanation I can think of explains their behavior. Their motive is clear, they want me gone, but all their actions at this point don’t represent a clear plan. Do they simply wish to keep me on edge? Are they trying to screen their real intent?”

Bruno closed the laptop. He walked up to the edge of the plasma and asked, “What are you trying to do?”

“In the long run? Make a world where everyone is treated equally. But for now, I’ll settle for getting Team Rocket out of the picture.” Nine studied Bruno’s cold, distant expression before saying, “Enjoy the rest of your day. I have much to think about.”

On his way back up, he asked his R&D Director for a copy of the security footage for the floor. Back in his own office, he began the arduous task of studying hours of footage sped up fifty times until he caught flashes of his own image. He followed Seven as she meandered through the underground, poking her head into storage closets and treatment wards. When she approached Bruno’s door, she stiffened and glanced at it out of the corner of her eye. 

Nine suspected she had known what lay beyond that door, but through that plasma, she shouldn’t be able to sense anything. He hadn’t. But then again, he had felt an odd pressure in the area from time to time. He made a note to have the plasma barrier inspected and brought up the security footage for the upper levels.

A study of the hallway by Allison Caldwell yielded fast results. Of the handful of times other people left their rooms, one room had been left twice, with no one coming in. The person’s route through the compound led straight to his office.

Cross-referencing the room with identity and attendance records revealed no anomalies in his recent behavior. After considering alternatives, such as a doppelganger using the room, he concluded it was another decoy. But then, why have two decoys? Was she testing him?

The footage of his room proved oddest of all. He saw clear evidence of the illusion that made him forget his card, when his card vanished and a fuzzy duplicate appeared next to it. Yet, after two minutes, the original card reappeared, as if it had never been taken. Questions flew across his mind, a jumble of hows and whys. With a growl, he scattered the questions and returned his attention to the footage in the hallway. Seven paused outside his door for ten seconds and moved on. Sure, she could make an illusion of the card that could fool the guards, but it wouldn’t get past the card reader.

Nine’s rumination was interrupted by a phone call. A glance at the ID told him it was his Chief of Security. He cleared his throat to lessen the weary croak in his voice and said, “Do you have anything to report?”

“Yes sir, I have excellent news! Remember that convoy that we were tipped off about? Admin Colson was overseeing it personally. We have captured him and his whole team alive.”

The swarm of thoughts returned, each one passing in an unintelligible blur. Gripping a desk drawer, Nine took deep breaths until his heart steadied and asked, “What have you done with them?”

“They are imprisoned in plasma cells in the northern sector. We have a koffing on standby if you wish to have them killed.”

The clamor of thoughts broke his illusion. Blobby pink flesh oozed onto his desk, and he sagged into his chair. All the while, his brain processed plan after possible plan revolving around Admin Colson’s presence. Another decoy, a conduit for Seven’s orders, a saboteur, nothing quite fit with Seven’s current behavior. Killing him would put an end to whatever plans Seven currently had, at the cost of his one potential source of information.

“You are to keep this between us,” Nine said. “But we are currently facing some serious issues in your security.” The man took a sharp breath, and Nine hastily added, “Nothing that I hold you accountable for. These are errors on my part.”

Even through the phone, Nine could sense the man picking his words as if he were picking the patches of thin ice he trod. “What kind of issues?”

“There is a mole among the White Knights, one capable of creating illusions. I fell for one of their decoys. I don’t know who or where they are, or what their plan is, but I am certain they will attempt to contact or free Admin Colson.”

“Should we kill them all?” he asked.

“Kill the other Rockets, but leave the Admin. Tighten security around him, and put Mr. H on his guard. Also, I will not be visiting his cell. If I approach, detain me immediately. Is that understood?”

“Y-yes sir,” the man stammered. “But, should I tell the guards on duty? Word would spread if they got orders like that.”

Nine grimaced. “Just tell Mr. H. He’ll handle it.”

He hung up and went back to the security footage, with thoughts swirling in his head like hot volcanic ash.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In all honesty, I don't know how this chapter turned out, and my brain's too fried to look it over. I'll fix things if I get feedback or instant regret after reviewing it myself. Also, thanks for reading and any comments you leave!
> 
> Now, if you'll excuse me, I need sleep.


	48. Chapter 48

Commissioner Mason took a long, greedy swallow of his coffee. Staring into the murky, swirling liquid, he debated adding a draft of vodka from the bottle in his inside coat pocket. He glanced at Peter, who sat to his left and stared hollow-eyed at the table and cradled an empty mug in his hands. 

Across the table, Elder Bayron read the morning’s newspaper. A lucario sat on either side of him. The Elder claimed that Jarem and Kolar had been sent back after last night’s incident, but these looked no different to him.

“All things considered,” Bayron said, “That could have gone far worse.”

Peter’s mug hit the table with a loud clank. In a low, ragged voice, he said, “I had that situation under control. If Jarem and Kolar hadn’t butted in, Bruno would be back safe and sound.”

The Elder shook his head. “I do not know for certain. I agree that they acted too hastily, but at the same time, I felt Bruno’s aura. He was teetering over the edge before he was attacked. Now… I fear whatever containment field holds him is the only thing standing between this city and an apocalypse.

Gregory Mason took his mug and turned around. A mug of coffee sat on the small table behind him. With his back to the rest of the group, he slipped a shot of vodka into his mug and topped it off with coffee. The cocktail of alcohol and caffeine dulled the edge off the headache sawing at his synapses.

“Let’s suppose Bruno’s let loose out of the city. What exactly would happen?”

“I don’t know.” Bayron lowered the newspaper and grabbed a cup of tea. “It depends on what he wants, and how many living beings are around him. Likely, the city will be destroyed.”

Mason grimaced and swigged more laced coffee. The half-empty bottle in his coat tugged at him. “Is there any way of stopping that from happening?” He gave a half-hearted chuckle and added, “I don’t think Parliament would appreciate losing their constituents.”

His eyes met Bayron’s for a heartbeat. Inscrutable red eyes burrowed into his brain, scavenged the squishy tissue for the thoughts floating in his mind. With a jerk, he looked down at his coffee and found the mug empty. This time, he emptied the bottle before pouring in coffee.

“There are two recorded instances of a rogue lucario. During both times, low population density allowed us to contain the threat and cover it up as a natural disaster. Here, with this much aura gathered in one spot, every lucario in Temple standing together couldn’t stop him.” Bayron closed his eyes for a second and said, “Not even the stone would tip the scales.”

Mason sipped his coffee. The thin, cloudy coffee had a gratifying kick. “So, we have to find and neutralize Bruno before Team Rocket thinks of using him as some kind of nuke. Wonderful. Any chance of finding him?”

“Bruno’s trail disappears at a spot where we suspect Team Rocket reclaimed him.” Elder Bayron added a dollop of honey to his tea and stirred it in with a spoon. “There’s no way to find him from there. Our only option is to wait for him to reappear and neutralize him.”

“You’re not even going to try to help him?” Peter said. Despite the fire in his eyes, his face was as impassive and calm as carved marble.

The Elder shook his head. “I am truly sorry that it must come to this, but millions are lives – perhaps all life on this planet, hangs in the balance. We have tried helping others in the past, and every time, more died. You know what must be done.”

“It doesn’t have to be this way. I can still help him. I know it. That was Bruno I was talking to, not some monster. Leave me and him alone for a few minutes, and I’ll have him right as rain.”

“We cannot take that risk.”

“Peter, I have to agree with the Elder,” Mason said. “I know you want to save your partner, but our obligation is to the people of this city. If one must die for the sake of everyone, even if it was me, or my wife, or anyone else, I’d pull the trigger myself.” He held up his coffee mug and said, “The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few.”

Peter glowered at him and sank into his chair. “This could have all been avoided.”

The Elder turned back to the Commissioner. “Is there any chance the White Knights could help us? They already found him once, and they may be able to do it again.”

Mason felt an eyebrow rise and lowered his face to hide it. “I don’t think so. After last night, I’m willing to be that the Rockets beefed up their security.” He perked up when he remembered a report an undercover agent gave him. “I just got a report this afternoon from an operative of mine. It seems that Colson, their technical Admin, is heading to a new facility with an escort of elite Grunts. With luck, he might lead us to where they’re holding Bruno.”

“Wouldn’t it be better to capture this Admin?” Bayron asked. “I could delve his aura and find Bruno’s location.”

Mason shivered. He breathed through gritted teeth and said, “There’s a risk that the Rockets would move Bruno after they learn that Colson was captured.”

“On the other hand, his mission might have nothing to do with Bruno. If so, we can’t let the chance to capture him slip by.”

The office floor turned to brittle ice beneath his feet. Each pace forward felt as though it could drown him. He took a breath and steadied himself with another gulp of coffee. Sometimes, the only way to find the cracks in the ice is to step on them. “With Stonebough prison still under renovation, we don’t have anywhere secure enough to keep him. If this delving takes less than four hours, we could make it work, but otherwise we’d have to track him and hope for the best.”

The Elder tilted the newspaper towards him. “Perhaps the White Knights could assist us. They may have somewhere we can store the Admin while the delving is underway.”

The snap of ice echoed across his mind, and the ice tilted beneath his feet. Time to backpedal.

“You have a point. With so many lives at stake, we can’t afford to leave it to chance. I’ll contact the White Knights right away and see what they can do. Is there anything else we need to discuss?”

The Elder handed a lucario his cup, and it set it in a garbage can. “I would like to stay here,” Bayron said. “I’ll make sure lucario are here at all times so we’re ready the moment Bruno gets loose. With luck, we may confine the damage to a small area.” He picked up the newspaper and bowed towards the Commissioner. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I must rest. City life is quite taxing.”

The lucario opened the door and escorted him out. Peter started towards the door, but with a gesture from Mason, he sat back down.

“Is this about my behavior?” he asked. “If so, then I apologize and will control myself better in the future.”

Gregory noted that Peter’s right hand shook inside his coat pocket, where he kept the Sudoku book.

“You need to keep a tighter leash on your anger, but that’s now what I need to discuss.” He glanced at the door, got up, and quietly locked it. He tipped the mug to his mouth, but only a thin trickle passed his lips. He grabbed his bottle, shook it, and left it in his pocket.

“I’m worried that we can’t trust the lucario.”

Peter flinched. Muscles in his face twitched as he ground his teeth, and he sat straight as a battering ram, but he stayed silent.

“I know what the Rockets want,” he said. “Giovanni wants power, and his Grunts want him to have it. He won’t get his power if he kills everyone. But what do the White Knights want? They claim to want equality, but they could just as easily want us all dead. Their leader is a failed experiment. It has every reason to hate us. I don’t know if the lucario are going along with it or are deceived by their propaganda, but I do know that they have more reason to side with the Knights than us.” He cleared his throat. “They are pokemon, after all.”

Peter glared at him, but his voice was soft as down when he spoke. “Did you really just suggest that we could trust Team Rocket more than we could trust the Knights?”

Mason’s grip tightened on his empty mug. He set it on the table, folded his hands, and said, “I trust the Rockets to serve their own interests. They get nothing by uprooting the government that profits them. The pokemon, on the other hand, are treated as pets and tools. They would have a lot to gain by replacing us.”

Peter shook his head. “You have no idea. They aren’t pets and tools, they’re partners. We live side by side, working together, supporting one another. There have always been intelligent pokemon, and we’ve gotten along for hundreds of years. Why be afraid now?”

“They played nice with us because they knew they couldn’t win. Now that there’s more of them, they might decide they’re sick of working with humans and want the world for themselves.”

“Listen to yourself. Do you have any idea how paranoid you sound?”

Mason’s head ached, and the alcohol made his tongue stiff. “Just tell me what the lucario want. Then I’ll start trusting them.”

Peter stared at him and squeezed the Sudoku book. “They’re purpose is to watch over the aura and keep it in balance. Wars and conflict cause ripples that can damage the environment. Is that what you’re looking for?”

Mason studied his officer, but he knew that trying to ask anything more would be useless.

“Yes, thank you.” He nodded and gave a faint smile. “That makes sense. Sorry for putting you through the wringer like that, it’s been a stressful few days, with the White Knights showing up and using EMPs. I just needed a little reassurance.”

Peter relaxed and smiled back. “I understand, sir. It’s been a rough few days for me as well. Try to get some rest, and let’s get ourselves an Admin.”

With a chuckle, Mason dismissed Peter. Once the door was closed, Mason’s smile vanished, and he sank back into his chair. He dissected the tidbit Peter gave him and liked none of the conclusions he reached. Cities were full of conflict. It happened anytime you crammed enough people together in a confined space. Combined with the fact that lucario suffered in cities, due to the chaotic aura, it hinted at the unpalatable possibility that human genocide would appeal to them.

Tapping his empty bottle, he reached for a phone, called his contact in the White Knights. Once done, he left the building and wandered until he found a café in the busiest part of the city. Surrounded by the clamor of businessmen on calls and people ordering coffee, Mason made a call to the Justice Committee, the branch of government that handles weapons development and military forces, and asked if they had anything that could solve his lucario problem.


	49. Chapter 49

Getting the little black cylinder to Admin Colson proved more challenging than anyone anticipated. Knights searched every meal brought to him for contraband, and every guard was screened by security, requiring passcodes, thumb prints, and retinal scans before passing the food through a second check at his cell. Seven’s second instinct was to imitate the Commander and walk up to the cell. Considering that the Knights knew she was here, she had Thoth search all their records for anything about Admin Colson, which had turned up a recording of a phone call, in which the Commander told his Chief of Security to apprehend himself if he came near the cell.

That led to a search for ‘Mr. H’, but all the search inquiries and roster lists found no leads. Even examining the guards from a safe distance, Seven couldn’t tell who would be Mr. H.

Two days passed until Mr. H’s name came up again in another phone call. The Commander summoned him to his office. Unable to pass this opportunity by, Seven left the room, changed her disguise, and lurked by the Commander’s office until a Knight went inside.

Seven glanced at her watch. The Knight had arrived ten minutes early, and five minutes later, he left. A pang of terror shot through her veins. Follow this visitor, or wait for another? As the Knight rounded a corner, Seven stalked after him.

“Track anyone else that goes into that office.”

“I’ll try,” Thoth said. “Security’s gotten tighter in the last few days, I’ll have to work around their firewalls.”

The Knight went straight towards Admin Colson’s cell. He took one of the guards into a break room. Seven memorized the sound of Mr. H’s soft, deep voice. She didn’t dare go inside after him, with nowhere to hide in the room, but after a moment, Thoth hacked into a camera, and Seven studied the footage from a shadowed corner.

The two Knights were seated across from each other at the table. From out of a pocket, Mr. H drew out a stone ring, hanging from one finger by a leather cord. The camera couldn’t pick up any of the words he said, but after a moment, the other Knight drooped forward, and Mr. H held him up. The Knight had a glass of water, which he drank through a hole in the mask, and went back outside, while Mr. H called the next one in. The process repeated itself three more times before Mr. H left the room.

“I’ve done an analysis,” Thoth said through Seven’s tablet. “That stone ring matches that of a Hypno. It doesn’t make any sense. Only a Hypno can use it, so why and how is a human doing it?”

“I think we found our first psychic type,” Seven typed back. “Hidden in plain sight, just like I am.”

“Then he must be hypnotizing the guards to carry out the Commander’s instructions without knowing it.

“Can we remove the hypnotism?” Seven asked.

“There’s a few options. Killing it should remove the residual psychic energy in their brains.”

“I’ve got the poison right here,” Seven said as she fingered the bottle in her hair, “But that would warn the Commander.”

“A dark-type could break the hypnosis, but the feedback would alert the psychic.” After a moment, Thoth added, “I don’t think the Tyranitar would be right for the job anyway.”

Seven refrained from telling him that she could probably break it herself and waited for the third option.

“Last, though I advise finding an alternative method, is to have a ghost consume the psychic energy. If you can get those guards alone, Set can hypnotize them, but there’s no telling what else he would do.”

Mr. H, finished with the last of the guards, left the break room and went straight to the elevator. Seven fingered the vial in her hair as she watched the doors close.

They waited until the next day before breaking the guards’ hypnosis. Disguised as Mr. H, Seven approached the guards and told them they needed another quick performance evaluation, as part of the new security protocols for the Admin. When the first guard sat down in front of her, Set popped out of Seven’s shadow and entranced the guard with flickering lights. Seven caught their head as they toppled forward.

She removed the Knight’s mask as she lowered the head. Long blonde hair, bunched up under the hood, spilled onto the table. She pulled the sweaty mass back, exposing her ears.

Set rubbed his hands and leaned over the guard. A shudder passed through the sleeping Knight as wispy purple orbs, laced with a gleaming pink coating, floated out of her ears. Set scooped them up in one hand, popped one into his mouth, and grimaced. With his free hand, Set scraped at his tongue. The ghost complained in an ethereal wail, and Seven’s tablet thrummed with a reply. Thoth told the ghost, “I don’t care how happy those thoughts taste, and neither does our master. The sooner you eat them all, the sooner you’ll be done.”

Set scowled at the screen, pried his mouth open, and tossed all the glowing orbs inside. His face puckered so much that half his face got sucked into his mouth. He swallowed, belched a glittering pink cloud, and snapped his fingers. As the Knight groggily woke, Seven shoved the mask over her face.

The next two guards must have had tastier dreams, since Set ate them without complaint. The last, a portly, balding man beneath the mask, made Set chuckle. After a handful of flickering black orbs, Set’s eyes widened, and he reached for more. A torrent of dreams poured out of the man’s ears, and Set wolfed them down like a basket of Halloween candy. The man shivered and paled as pieces of his mind slipped away.

“Stop him!” Thoth said through the tablet. “He’ll die if more is taken!”

Seven yanked Set’s ball out of her hair and called him back. A cloud of orbs, absent of the psychic purple sheen around them, writhed and seeped back into the man’s head. His color returned, and his eyes snapped open. Seven jammed the mask on, but the man didn’t seem to notice.

“Ugh, my head’s pounding,” he said.

“Are you feeling alright?” Seven asked using the voice of Mr. H. “Perhaps you should visit the infirmary.”

The man stood and shook himself. “Nah, just a bit of a cold, I think. This post’s too important to leave over something as silly as that.”

With the guards neutralized, Seven walked up to them the next day, disguised as the Commander, and asked to speak alone with the Admin. Without searching her, the guards led Seven through a series of locked doors and left her with Colson. In place of his Admin’s uniform, Colson wore only a cloth around his waist, exposing his pasty, scarred skin to the light. Every inch of him bore an endless patchwork of slender, pale scars, from rings around his eyeballs, which still bore smudges of make-up, to gashes that crept past the cloth at his loins.

After checking that Thoth had disabled the cameras, Seven rolled the cylinder through the plasma shield. Colson cracked it open. Inside were four batteries, thick, gray, and each heavy enough to bludgeon someone with.

“I’m not a pretty sight, am I?” he asked.

“The cameras are down, and the guards have left us alone,” Seven said.

“You were supposed to have done this sooner. I only had a few days left before I would lose power.”

Before she could ask what he meant, he pried at a section of skin on his arm. With a snap, a lid popped off, exposing a hollow chamber in his arm. He wrapped cloth around the ends of each battery and stuck them in there.

“With these, we have two weeks before I run out of power and die, so I’d appreciate it if you can be a bit more timely with the rest of your mission.”

Questions flooded her head, but Seven swallowed and asked, “What next?”

Colson tapped the cylinder on his hand, and another piece of metal came out, a hollow square. Colson gingerly eased it into the plasma barrier behind him.

“Type the following phrase into your tablet: ‘49YXB’.”

Seven obeyed, and Colson typed into the air. Moments later, her notepad opened up, and words appeared on the screen.

“I will maintain contact through this,” Colson said through the tablet. “Have Thoth disable the cameras on my cell every day at two o’ clock for one hour so I can relay information in and out of here.”

“Yes, but there may be a few problems.” Colson listened as she told everything she had seen and learned over the few weeks she had been there. He frowned at the psychics hidden under robes, a frown that deepened when she told him about the lab in the basement until she said that they had Bruno.

“So, they’re going behind the backs of the police?” He rubbed at his chin with one hand and typed with the other. “That might work to our advantage. For now, focus on tracking Mr. H and finding all other psychics in this facility. Save the poison until we figure out what our next move will be.”

Seven nodded and turned to leave, but the scars made her look back. She swallowed, wiped sweat from her face, and asked, “Did it hurt?”

Colson regarded her with a blank expression. “All things worth having come at a price.” His expression hardened, and he tapped the spot on his arm. Seven expected a metallic clink, but it shifted like flesh. “Speak of this to no one. Secrets are easier to keep when no one knows about them.”

*******

Bruno regarded the transparent cell walls. Those walls had been there his whole life, but only now he could see them and the deadly consequences of trying to cross them. Pokémon were pets and tools until they tried to resist. Then they were monsters.

A robed raichu approached him with a lunch tray. He could feel the same anger and frustration that boiled in him drifting from the raichu’s spirit like the sea’s salty spray each time a wave battered against the rocks. The rocks were crumbling, and the sea would wash them all away. He grinned at that thought.

His voice was a soft caress as he asked the raichu, “Aren’t you sick of hiding beneath that mask?”

The raichu spoke through the chatot on top of his head, but the words from the bird had the same edge of frustration. “We shouldn’t have to hide what we are.”

“Your leader is holding you back. You need someone with the strength to bring pokemon out of the chains humans shackled them with.”

The raichu wordlessly set the tray on the table and stood at the edge of the cell until a second barrier separated them. Another rock tumbled into the waves. Soon, very soon, this ocean within him would know no walls.

Bruno plucked a cheri berry from his plate, crushed it between his teeth, and chuckled as spicy red juice dripped down his muzzle.


	50. Chapter 50

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year everyone!

“Is everything ready on their end?” Seven asked.

Admin Colson shifted his seat on the cold concrete floor and typed in the air. “Fisher’s team is ready for deployment. The police have been tipped off about a Rocket hideout posing as a White Knight base through the Commander’s email account, and we’ve confirmed the presence of four lucario at police headquarters.” His fingers stopped. He brushed away a strand of hair and looked up at Seven. “What about your preparations?”

Seven held up an empty vial and the black-box EMP. “I put a few drops in a glass of water I found in Mr. H’s room, and dumped the rest into their drinking water.”

“It would’ve been better if you had found the other psychics,” Colson said. “They’ll be on guard for the poison after this.”

“We didn’t have time for that.” Seven glanced at the door, but no one was watching through the little fiberglass window. “After the EMP goes off, I’ll meet you by the elevator.”

Seven went towards the door. Colson said, “Don’t get yourself killed,” as her hand touched the knob. She shot back, “Same to you,” opened the door, and took one step out.

For half a second, the lights overhead brightened until they burned her eyes. A static charge rushed across her fur, and her heart fluttered. Then the world went dark, and the static tingle turned into a scalpel on her throat. She clawed at her hair until she found her flashlight. Setting it on its brightest setting, she went back into the prison. Colson’s cell was deactivated, and the Admin had collapsed on his side, retching up his breakfast and coughing bloody spittle. His limbs twitched wildly, and his eyes bulged in their sockets.

“EMP,” he managed to say between coughing fits. “Get… me… out…”

“What about the mission?” she asked.

“No… circuits shot. Can’t move.” He got one elbow beneath him, but a shaking spell rolled him onto his back. Seven grabbed him by the armpits, hoisted him onto his feet, and carried him by a shoulder. He felt surprisingly lightweight, even for his skinny frame, but his feet dragged behind and caught on the doorway.

“Who did…?” he asked through bloody lips.

As Seven was about to say “I don’t know,” a roiling wave of anger and bloodlust rolled over her. She knew it was Bruno, the sensation had the same resentful, clinging aura that he had exuded back in the Rockets’ prison, but rage replaced its despair. It rattled her thoughts, grabbed her, tried to pull her under, and she clawed for the sweet air of her sanity with all her strength.

“Bruno. He’s out.”

“Good,” Colson said through gritted teeth. “Get out… before police…”

Two guards ran around a corner and skidded short of them. “Commander?” one of them asked. “What are you doing with the prisoner?”

Before she could answer, a loping shape hurtled around the same corner and grabbed one guard by the neck. The guard sagged as bones snapped beneath the assailant’s iron grip. The other guard turned, his face transfixed in an astonished expression, as gleaming white teeth sank into his skull as though it were cheese.

The beast tore into the dead man’s abdomen and plunged its face into the viscera. Seven swung her flashlight onto it. Its eyes caught the light, and it turned towards her. Blood and bits of flesh clung to the matted white fur on its face, blood similar in color to the tuft of fur crowning its head. The vigoroth’s arms were longer than its legs, a fact Seven found all too clear when it sprang towards her, arms outstretched, claws like daggers pointed at her heart.

Seven drew her knife and held it out in front of her. The vigoroth charged, heedless of the tiny blade, and toppled Seven over. It pinned both her legs and a shoulder beneath its girth, and it clawed at her with both arms. Each swipe left rows of burning furrows in her flesh. Gritting her teeth, Seven stabbed at the vigoroth’s chest with her free arm, hunting for its heart beneath the baggy mass of white fur. Blood gushed out, forming a red circle around each puncture. 

The vigoroth’s clawing slowed, then stopped. It shuddered, rolled to one side, and coughed up blood. Seven staggered to her feet. Long, shallow gashes criss-crossed her chest. One scratch grazed her jugular, mere millimeters away from spilling all her blood. She grimaced, pressed the rags of the White Knight uniform to the cuts, and limped to Colson.

“Your illusion’s gone,” he said. “You’re bleeding.”

Seven looked down. The power came sluggishly, but after a moment, she wore a generic White Knight uniform. She knew the design was too plain, but the stinging on her chest, coupled with the dimness in her eyes from fatigue and shock, made hints of surgery creep over her mind.

“Is this part of our plan?” she asked.

Colson shook his head. “I don’t know what’s–” A coughing fit interrupted him. He wiped a dribble of blood from his chin and said, “We have to warn them.”

Seven racked her brain, but she could only remember one way out, all the way on the opposite side of the facility, past the elevator and the Commander’s office. She knew there were other ways, but with the foul aura drifting in the air, maddening every pokemon it touched, she didn’t dare call out Thoth. 

“I think we’re trapped,” she told Colson.

“Think something else and get moving. I only have a few hours.”

He doubled over and retched brown slime onto the floor. Seven dragged him through the vomit, too tired and hurried for the nuanced maneuvering of Colson’s legs required to avoid it.

The halls were empty, but screams and gunfire sounded up ahead, by the elevator shaft. Seven peered around the corner and saw half a dozen machine guns set down the hall from the elevator, chewing through belts of high-caliber rounds as fast as the Knights could shove them in. Thirty more stood behind with rifles raised to their shoulders, aiming towards the hallway ceiling. Between them stood a crate full of magazines and extra rifles.

“There’s too many, and I can barely keep this illusion together,” Seven said. “We’ll have to find another way.”

“There’s no time. Get Thoth out, or get past them.”

There was no getting past them, and that left gambling on Thoth’s ability to withstand Bruno’s suffocating aura. With a held breath, Seven pulled Thoth’s ball out of her hair and tossed it on the ground.

The porygon looked around at the halls and gave a start at Colson’s blood-stained face.

“What do you need?” he asked Seven.

“We need the quickest way out of here that doesn’t go past the elevator,” Seven told it. “Hurry, we don’t have much time.”

Seven watched the program carefully while it reviewed the cameras and maps of the place. It gave Seven typed instructions, and she called it back. She let out the breath she had held and hauled Colson down a different corner. Compared to the cacophony by the elevator, those halls were eerily silent. Each of her steps was punctuated by the squelch of blood in her boots. Her breaths came in jagged, burning gasps, and her arms shook from holding up Colson.

They rounded a corner, the last one before the exit. In front of the metal detector, between her and freedom, stood the Commander. He held a gun pointed at Seven’s chest.

“You’re late,” he said, “Though I don’t blame you, considering your injuries.”

Seven reached for her own gun, buried in her hair, but the Commander fired a shot over her head.

“Don’t try anything.” He gestured towards a guard station to her right. “Set him down out of sight. We’re going to have a private conversation.”

With the gun still trained on her, Seven leaned Colson against a wall and followed the Commander into the station. He drew down the blinds on the window and sat at a table. He gestured, and Seven took the seat opposite of him.

The Commander put the gun down and leaned back. “I’ve had the hardest time tracking you down. If you hadn’t dropped your disguise in the hallway while fighting that vigoroth, I might have never noticed you.”

Seven tensed and her fingers rose towards the knife on her belt. “What do you want?”

He smiled. “I wanted to catch up with my sister. It’s been ages since we were together, and we have a lot to discuss.”

The Commander vanished, and in his place sat a misshapen patchwork quilt of black zoroark fur and lupine features glued together with pink slime. Seven’s breath caught as memories of a slime-drenched knife rose in her mind, and her illusion slipped away.

“Nine,” she said breathlessly.

Nine clapped his hands, which made a squelching sound when they came together. “You’ve done your homework.”

“You were supposed to be dead.”

“I was.” He poked the amorphous blob of his right shoulder, and it sagged beneath his finger. “The splicing with ditto DNA worked better than they had expected, but I was still on the verge of death. It took decades to remove the tumors, and by then, much of my genetic material was damaged beyond repair.” Half of his face drooped down, and he shoved it back in place. “But that’s not important right now. I wanted to warn you that working for the Rockets is folly. You’re as much a monster as I am. They’ll use you, sure, but the second that they don’t need you, they’ll dispose of you.”

Seven shrugged, but inside, it felt as though her intestines were strangling her heart and lungs. “It’d be no different than anyone else would treat me if that were the case,” she said, “But the Rockets reward good results. I’m their most important agent, and they’ve made me an Admin for it.”

Nine shook his head. “Even Admins are disposable, or have you forgotten what befell Mad Hax?” He leaned forward. “Trying to blend in is foolish. The moment you’re caught, they’ll use you and destroy you, just like they do for everything else that isn’t human. I’m trying to redefine the concept. The only way we can coexist peacefully as equals is to show them we are equal. So join me and live free, or stay with the Rockets and live only as long as they can use you.”

“Last I saw, you’re finished.” She gestured at the bloody cuts on her chest. “Bruno’s tearing this place apart.”

Nine grimaced. “I will deal with him and start fresh. Luckily, I can pin this whole fiasco on you.” He took a deep breath, peeked through the blinds, and turned back to her. “What will it be?”

Seven stood and went to the door. As she left, Nine vanished and the Commander stood by the window. “This was your only chance,” he said. “I hope you don’t regret your decision.”

With the last of her strength, Seven lifted Colson onto her shoulder and staggered towards the door. His eyes were dulled over, and his speech slurred.

“What… what did he say?”

“He wanted me to join him,” Seven said, “And I said no.” She glanced down at him and added, “He said that you would kill me once you no longer have a use for me.”

“He does the same for anyone else,” Colson murmured. “Like my brother, no longer useful… like I was… but he made me useful… god, it hurts…” He drifted off. The tension left his muscles like a cut cord, and his dead weight pulled her sideways. Tripping over her feet, Seven shoved him against the metal detector, put him back over her shoulder, and walked through. The metal detector’s alarms screeched, but there was no one left to hear.

Seven’s vision darkened as she shouldered her way through a narrow staircase. She staggered into an abandoned bookstore. Against one wall, a dusty couch sat in between two empty bookcases. Too tired to think, Seven set Colson on the floor, stumbled onto the couch, and fell asleep with her muzzle buried in the dust.


	51. Chapter 51

Peter was at his desk, sipping black coffee and filling out the pages of a Sudoku book. Four more, each small enough to fit in his pocket, were in the garbage bin next to his chair.

As he ticked off three nines, a door slammed. The rustling of robes announced a lucario, and the booming voice belonged to Elder Bayron.

“Where is the Commissioner?” he shouted.

Peter pointed at a conference room. “In a board meeting with a Justicar, so don’t”

He was cut off when the Elder raced towards the door and threw it open. Ten seconds later, the Commissioner sprinted out.

“Get everyone moving, we’ve found the Rocket base! Hurry!”

The book fell from Peter’s fingers and landed in his lap. When he bolted out of his chair, the book landed pages-first onto the garbage can lid, hung there for a moment, and slid into the bin.

Peter rushed up to the Elder and grabbed him by a sleeve. “You found Bruno?”

The Elder’s eyes darkened when he looked at Peter. “It is too late,” he said. “His aura has infested many others and continues to grow.” He pulled his sleeve out of Peter’s grasp and said, “The only thing we can do for him now is to give him a clean death.”

“It’s that kind of thinking that drove him away,” Peter said. “I know I can help him.”

The Elder gave no reply as he turned and ran into another room. Before Peter could start after him, a fellow officer patted him on the shoulder.

“Get geared up, we’re moving.”

Peter followed him into the armory, strapped on a Kevlar vest, a helmet, and an assault rifle with spare clips, and went with the others into the armored vans. Each van held seats for twenty, and each had two lucario in the rear. Sirens wailed as they barreled through the streets. The lucarios’ ears twitched, and they glanced over their shoulders, muttering to themselves in soft barks. Men checked their weapons, adjusted straps on their vests, and made light conversation with those next to them.

Peter reached into his pocket, but it was empty. Sweat crept down his neck, and his hands shook as he gripped his weapon.

His helmet buzzed, and the Commissioner’s voice came through its built-in radio.

“We got intel from our moles in the Rocket organization that they have disguised their agents as White Knights at the facility where they’re keeping Bruno. We have had no contact from the White Knights and do not expect their presence on the scene. Your orders are to shoot everyone on sight. Is that clear?”

With the rest of the officers, Peter pressed a button on the inside of his helmet and said, “Yes sir!”

The van stopped. When the back door opened, Peter leapt out, gun raised. Around him was an abandoned city neighborhood, with boarded-up shops and cracked streets. The officers milled in a circle behind a wall of vans, with the Commissioner and forty lucario gathered off to one side. Peter pushed his way through the crowd towards them.

“You’re sure it’s down there?” Commissioner Mason asked.

“We can feel it,” Elder Bayron answered.

“There’s all sorts of tunnels down there, but there’s no telling which one we need to take. We’ll have to split up our forces and send them down the sewers, subway lines, and maintenance tunnels.

“That will take too long. Allow us to make a path down there.” 

The lucario formed a circle. The air shifted in between them, refracting light in nauseating swirls. A shudder ran through the ground, and a rent opened in the pavement, burrowing its way through pipes and stones, tearing them apart like wrapping paper. Like a gaping mouth, the chasm roared with the sound of grinding stone and screeching metal. As the rift widened, the bottom portion flattened itself into stairs, stretching down into darkness.

When the lucario parted, Peter ran first down the steps. Echoes of footfalls behind him pounded like drums. The darkness stretched forever, leaving the light behind him a mere pinprick, until he passed a layer of torn metal into a lit hallway.

Down his left stretched a hallway with dozens of doors on either side, all of them closed. To his right was a pile of bodies, four white-clad men and a zangoose. Two men had their throats clawed out, the third had his guts spilled on the floor, and the fourth had it s head sliced off, while the zangoose had bullet wounds all over its chest and arms.

He hadn’t realized that he had stopped until Elder Bayron passed him. The lucario shook his head at the bodies.

“This will only get worse. Go right, and take the first left.”

Peter gripped his weapon hard enough to make the plastic groan. “This is Bruno’s doing?”

“It is.” The Elder looked down at him and asked, “Do you still think he can be saved?”

Peter stepped over the bodies. Blood smeared his boots, leaving crimson prints on the floor.

“I know he can.”

The Elder matched him stride for stride, giving directions through the labyrinth of hallways. They passed more corpses, some piles of pokemon perforated by assault rifles, others of human corpses, frozen, turned to ash, dismembered, dissolved into pale, squishy lumps. One man, with blood trickling past his lips and a thorn in his liver, begged them for water as they passed.

A few minutes later, the Commissioner’s voice came through over the radio.

“I’ve been updated on the situation. You are to hold fire against any Rockets you see and concentrate on eradicating the pokemon. We can deal with them later.”

After a quarter mile of jogging, Peter heard the sound of fighting, a cacophonous jumble of gunshots mixed with the roars of pokemon. He sprinted forward, weapon pointed down the hall. Elder Bayron fell behind until a few layers of officers ran ahead of him.

Peter sprinted around a corner and skidded to a stop within feet of a white-clad firing line. Five machine guns mounted in the middle of the hallway fired down another hall, and around two dozen men fired assault rifles down the same path. A half-empty box of clips stood behind them, and a clutter of empties lay around their feet.

The officers that joined Peter had their guns raised, but no one pulled the trigger. Most gunmen were looking down the hallway, but a man watching the flanks ran to get a commanding officer. When the white-clad figure walked up to them and removed his mask, Peter recognized the face of their Commander, the illusion covering blobby skin and patchy fur.

“These are actually White Knights?” Peter asked.

“Yes.” Nine glanced at the lucario standing back behind the crowd. “I’ll take some wild guesses. You got some intelligence that this was a Rocket Base under disguise and that Bruno is here.”

Elder Bayron stepped forward. Some of the Knights turned and raised their guns, but Nine told them to hold fire. They turned back to the hall with passing glances at the lucario.

“Sorry about that, we’re having an issue with our pokemon, something I suspect the Rockets cooked up.”

“This was not their doing,” the Elder said. “At least, not directly.” 

Elder Bayron looked down the hall, and Peter looked with him. A pile of corpses ground into blood-frosted paste by countless bullets piled up in front of the elevator doors, a stack high enough to touch the ceiling and stretched thirty feet. Tangles of blood-soaked feathers crowned the top like candles.

“He’s coming up,” the Elder said, “And he’s bringing more with him. He knows we’re here.”

“Get the grenade launchers and flamethrowers ready,” Nine ordered. “Bring the artillery over here too.”

White-clad figures brought in crates of weapons, and six men rolled a giant cannon in front of the hallway. Police officers strapped bottles of fuel on their backs and strapped grenades to their chest, but Peter ignored the weapons and went up to Nine.

“You had him this whole time, didn’t you?” he asked.

Nine grimaced. “Since that night, yes. I was hoping to find a way to counter their abilities, since I’m fairly sure the Justicar will use them to eliminate me. If I had known this would come of it–”

Peter cut him off by pressing the barrel of his gun up into Nine’s ribcage. He held the weapon so his body kept it from view of the officers and Knights behind him.

“I should kill you for what you did.”

Nine shrugged. “Go ahead and try. It’d take a lot more than a few bullets to kill me.”

Before Peter pressed down on the trigger, someone shouted, “The pile is moving!”

Peter drew his weapon away and turned around. The pile had been pushed up into a uniform wall, and it slid forward. Grenades and artillery rounds blew it apart, but more meat filled the gaps. Dozens of flamethrowers lit the corpses. Between the fires and the explosions, the wall vanished two thirds of the way down the hall. A shimmering blue barrier filled the hallway, and behind it stood Bruno. Dozens more were behind him, a small flock of chatot squawking overhead and ranks of bipedal pokemon on the ground. Bullets, fire, and cannon shells alike glanced off the barrier like confetti against a steel wall.

The Elder and his retinue of lucario pushed their way forward, but Peter beat them all to the hallway. The guns stopped. Silence filled the halls as Peter walked up to Bruno. He stopped two feet short of the barrier.

Peter reached for the Sudoku book and felt only emptiness. Words clung to his tongue, but after a deep breath, he spoke.

“I… I’m sorry I couldn’t help you last time. I tried to, but they got in the way.” He turned towards the lucario as he pointed at them. The Elder impassively looked on from behind the guns and made no move towards them.

Peter cleared his throat. “Just come home with me. It’ll be just the two of us, getting coffee and donuts, watching movies, going for walks. I’ll make sure they don’t get involved.”

The barrier vanished. Peter looked back at the guns and made sure he was between them and Bruno, but not a single shot rang out. They were held back by Elder Bayron.

A flicker of hope fluttered in his chest, a comforting tug like a Sudoku book in his pocket. He stayed where he was, but he spread out his arms.

“I missed you so much it hurt,” Peter said. “You’re my partner, and I wouldn’t leave you for the world. So please, come here.”

Tears streamed down Bruno’s cheeks as he took hesitant steps forward. The pokemon behind him stood still, and the chatot perched from heads and shoulders.

Bruno wrapped his arms around him. Warmth seeped out of his fur and into Peter’s chest, chasing away a chill he hadn’t known was there. Tears came into Peter’s eyes as he returned the embrace.

“That’s it,” Peter murmured into Bruno’s shoulder. “Everything is going to be okay now. You’re home.”

The embrace grew tighter. Peter felt short of breath from the strength of Bruno’s arms.

“Wow, you must’ve missed me as much as I did,” he wheezed. “Mind easing up a bit?”

The embrace grew tighter. Peter’s ribs creaked, and his lungs screamed in pain. Despite the urge to thrash about, Peter kept still.

“Please… stop…” His voice was a thin whisper.

The embrace grew tighter. A rib broke, and pain shot through his chest like a bullet. He lost control of his limbs, and they battered against the lucario. More ribs broke. Blood trickled out of Peter’s mouth, soaking Bruno’s fur. He looked up at Bruno's face. Tears matted the fur beneath Bruno’s eyes, and he stared up at the ceiling.

The embrace grew tighter. Pokémon roared, and gunshots cracked the air, but the last sound Peter ever heard was the snapping of his spine.


	52. Chapter 52

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, there's going to be a lot to cover before this chapter starts.
> 
> Now, it's been three weeks since the last chapter update, largely due to the fact that I started a new job and it's sapped me of all my motivation to do anything except, eat, sleep, and watch anime. I apologize for this, and had I anticipated such a drop in my productivity, I would've left a little warning.
> 
> That three weeks, however, gave me some time to think about the story as a whole, and I asked myself an interesting question. I'm using the straight-up Team Rocket instead of a knock-off version, so why am I using a knock-off Team Plasma? At that point, I wove together some of the story's weaker points into a stronger, more cohesive whole featuring this group, and it gave rise to some very interesting future ideas. Therefore, I have decided to edit this story with these changes in mind. From this point forward, the story will continue with the following changes in mind:
> 
> That one professor who made Seven and Nine, his name is now Ghestis. And yes, he still gets gunned down.
> 
> Nine is going to lose three letters from his name. I'll leave you to guess which three. His human appearance will also get a bit of a makeover, but his character will remain fundamentally unchanged.
> 
> Those Justicars I kept talking about and hinting at their presence? They're Sages now, and there's seven of them.
> 
> As for Team Plasma itself... I'll let you find that out on your own.
> 
> These won't be the only changes that I will make. If you've happened to see my profile page, you're aware of the fact I'm working on another story called Beaten Beater. That will also get some edits. It's nothing too much now, since it's still pretty early into its first draft, but it's more to do with certain elements that'll come to play in the future. If you're wondering why I haven't posted it yet, it's precisely so these kinds of pauses in writing output won't happen in the future, and it'll give me the leeway to make improvements as I go without throwing readers for a loop.
> 
> So, my hope is to have the Beaten Beater edits finished tomorrow, and to have Masks fixed up a week from then. After that, it'll remain to be seen if I can return to my usual writing pace, but I'll give it my best. Thanks to all of those reading, reviewing, and so on, now go enjoy the chapter.

* * *

 

As the days went by, the air grew heavy and putrid as it soaked up his anger. Landfills smelled fair by comparison. Bruno drowned in it, gasping for air, struggling to swim for the surface, only to be blocked by a buzzing barrier of plasma. The currents whipped around him, slamming into his chest, knocking him off his feet. Every twitch of his arms and legs in effort to resist the current brought unimaginable agony, searing heat and biting cold, stinging nettles and paper cuts sank through his flesh and into his bones, gripping his heart with a deathly cold, fiery hot, unimaginably angry will.

One day, he stopped resisting. With that, all the pain vanished. The current swept him along, pulled him deeper into the sea. He breathed in the festering hatred as readily as crisp mountain air, and floated like a feather through fog, blanketed in ecstasy.

The tides swept him next to a raichu and a chatot, bundled together beneath a white robe, posing as a human. The plasma parted only long enough for the briefest of caresses, but soon, the raichu and its companion drifted with him, swept along by the anger that sang within their bones.

The raichu touched others, whispered in their ears, nudged them into the water, where they too were swept away. Even confined in his impenetrable cell, Bruno could sense the anger swelling around him, though it was a mere drop compared to the ocean bundled around him.

The currents nudged the Raichu to the generator rooms. With a single spark, Bruno was free. A torrent gushed from his cell, smashing into everything on the floor and pushing them ahead of him, up the elevator, to the humans lurking above him. Each human soul was a midge, buzzing around his ears, an irritation to drown in his anger.

As he walked towards the elevator, he noticed bubbles of aura resisting his call. He glanced in one room and saw an ampharos in a bed, unconscious, hooked up to machines monitoring its heartbeat and blood pressure. Like oil over water, the ampharos floated above the anger’s current, untouched by it. If he wanted to, Bruno could smash its aura to pieces, but such a pitiful, sickly thing wasn’t worth his attention.

Up his pokemon went, and down they fell as bullets tore through them. He smiled at the thought of drowning those humans in their own blood and pushed the current further up the shaft. Flocks of chatot, stripped of their hooded perches and Bluetooth speakers, spoke unearthly cackles and anguished screams as they swarmed up the elevator and flew into a stream of gunfire.

The humans thought they were winning, and though Bruno wished to let them savor that hope just a little longer to sweeten their despair, he could feel others coming. Them. The ones that filled him with this anger. Lucario, and their police allies, swarming into the tunnels like rats. Each lucario burned his eyes, and there were enough coming for him to outshine the sun.

The current lifted him up the elevator, but not fast enough. The lights surrounded him. He threw up a barrier and pushed it through the corpse-strewn hallway. A wall of flesh rose before him, soaking up bullets and fire before burning away, revealing the hallway ahead of him.

And at the front of it all, in front of assault rifles and cannons, flamethrowers and lucario, was Peter. His eyes glistened with tears, and a smile lit up his face. The sound of boot on metal echoed across the silent hallway. Gunpowder smoke drifted in thin wisps from the weapons, forming a swirling cloud that muted the lights.

Peter’s soul was a cracked shell, with liquid contents sloshing over and disappearing into the air with every agitation, but its light held the same gentle warmth that helped Bruno to sleep for years.

When Peter stopped just short of his barrier, he spoke, and Bruno’s barrier drifted away. His legs moved on their own, and his arms wrapped themselves around the man, pulling him into a tight embrace.

Bruno let himself get swept up in the embrace until he felt the current pushing his arms into a vice-like grip. Confusion and panic twisted Peter’s face. Bruno pushed against the current, struggled to hold his arms back, but every effort to resist drove nails through his skull, seared the flesh off his bones, and blackened his insides with frost. Bit by bit, the current wore away at the features of Bruno’s soul, smoothing him into a blunt, round boulder.

When Peter’s spine snapped, the consciousness that called itself Bruno vanished. All that remained a nameless, emotionless husk, drifting in the rivers of human blood that ran down the halls of the White Knights’ Headquarters. With each step he took, more pokemon were swept up by his anger.

*******

Wave after wave of pokemon poured out of the elevator, shielded by Bruno. The lucario stripped their protection away, and the barrage of gunfire mowed them down, but their numbers only swelled as the battle dragged on, and Bruno’s lines pushed steadily forward. The White Knights and the police were split apart by the narrow hallways, and without the help of the lucario, bullets glanced off of thin shields of aura, with the occasional explosive or higher caliber round breaking through.

When it became apparent to N that they couldn’t hold back the onslaught of pokemon, he ordered a full retreat. Men tossed grenades and planted explosives in their wake. Explosions spattered the walls with red and black, but more kept coming. Shots rang out. Men and pokemon screamed as their blood pooled on the floors. They made a mad dash through the halls, leaving behind Knights screaming for help.

N got the majority of his forces through a barricade and sealed the way with a metal frame two feet thick and a micrometer of plasma. Beyond that point was an emergency supply depot, with sufficient food, medicine, and weapons to see them through a siege. N knew that Bruno could smash his way through a mountain, but that invisibly thin lair of charged air defied all.

A quick count had his remaining forces at two-hundred and eighteen humans, most armed with assault rifles, five-hundred clips of bullets to go around, a dozen spent flamethrowers, two gatling guns, each with half-spent clips of a thousand, over a hundred grenades, and absolutely no morale. Men and women, with their masks askew, stared listlessly at the floor with lost, glazed eyes. Many wore bandages in varying shades of pink.

When he cleared his throat, every pair of eyes rose towards him. N couldn’t tell if the sudden light in their eyes came from hope, or tears of despair. He took a deep breath. The truth was out, now, and he was finished. Time to come clean.

“I must apologize you all. I have been deceiving you from the beginning.”

There wasn’t anything else he could possibly do, was there?

“The pokemon that attacked us, they weren’t Team Rocket’s pokemon. They were our own. They wore the same masks and robes as you. They ate with you, trained with you, and spoke with you. And it was a pokemon we captured, in hopes of studying and using its abilities in the fight against Team Rocket, that twisted their minds.”

A flash of inspiration came to him. It was a flimsy hope, but the alternative was leaving Bruno or Giovanni to decide the world’s fate. He didn’t know which would be worse.

“I want to show you all something. I want to show you what happens when humans have complete control over pokemon.”

Never had the mask over his face felt so heavy as he pried it away from his face, nor had the illusion felt so warm until he cast it aside and exposed his pink, lumpy flesh to the open air. Knights stiffened in their seats, and a few raised their guns at him.

“Go ahead, shoot,” he told them. “I am a monster, one of many pokemon wrought by human hands for a twisted purpose, and I was made unable to die.” He paused and swept his gaze across the room. More guns rose, but none fired.

N stepped closer to them and raised his voice. “It was once my hope that mankind and pokemon could learn to live side by side as equals. To this end, I had pokemon every bit as intelligent as you intermingle with you, hidden by the masks and robes we wear. I had planned to reveal this to you after Team Rocket fell, but it would appear that they got the first move.”

He winced at the lie he would have to tell, but he’d already told countless more.

“Team Rocket had damaged Bruno’s mind. It was my hope to rehabilitate him, but out of concern for your safety, we had him isolated on the bottom floor of the lab and walled off by plasma. However, one of their agents sabotaged the power to the lower level and escaped during the confusion.”

Mutters rose among the Knights, and a steely glint shone in their eyes.

“It is clear that Team Rocket intends to use Bruno as a weapon to overthrow the government. He’ll use the fear of Bruno’s destruction to make the public accept whatever demands he makes. If we do not act, both pokemon and humans will suffer under the greatest tyranny in all of history.”

One of the Knights stood up and asked, “What would you have us do, sir?”

“We will be reborn from the ashes of the White Knights, and learn from our failures.” He flung his mask aside, and it clattered across the metal floor. “Cast aside your masks, for there will no longer be any secrets between us. The Knights are no more, and something stronger must rise in their place.” He paused for a moment, considering what name to give them. “We must be a Team, an equal to Team Rocket, one dedicated to the separation of mankind from pokemon, for the benefit of all. We shall be…” A proper name eluded him, until he thought of the one thing keeping Bruno from smashing down the doors and killing them all.

“Team Plasma.”

Silence filled the room, and no one moved. N’s face tightened, and his heart quivered in his chest. Then, the one standing stepped forward and raised a hand in salute. More copied the gesture, most sitting due to their wounds.

“I thank you all for your support,” N said, “But we cannot do this alone. Our enemies are many and mighty, and we were nearly wiped out. We need allies.” N gave them a lopsided smile. “And I know exactly where we’re going to find them.”


	53. Chapter 53

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still working on getting my life sorted out, but my goal is another chapter in two weeks. Also, quick reminder from Ch 52 that N and Ghetsis are now a part of this story. More details there.

* * *

Seven felt the light above her face before she saw it. Her fur tingled with its warmth, and the air passing through her lips tasted of blood and alcohol. Her arms ached, and her chest felt tight and itchy.

Her eyelids reluctantly parted, and the light burned her eyes. After she blinked out the tears and turned her head, she saw a heart-rate monitor and a table. Scalpels, needles, and forceps glittered in the harsh LED light, and empty blood bags were pressed into a neat stack on the other side.

Seven’s eyes widened as she whipped her head around. She couldn’t see the head and shoulders of the doctor stooped over the other operating table, but she could see Admin Colson’s face, eyes closed and the skin on his forehead peeled back to reveal a metal casing. The doctor reached inside with a delicate pair of pliers and a blunted needle. Their hands moved with careful grace, never making an errant twitch as the implements went halfway into Colson’s skull. After ten minutes, the doctor extricated their tools, wiped sweat off their brow, and turned towards Seven.

Though Celeste wore layers of hairnets, safety goggles, and a surgical mask, Seven recognized her sharp blue eyes. Celeste smiled, but through the fabric of the mask, it was a pink smear.

“Good, you’re awake. Do you remember what happened?”

Seven furrowed her brow. Everything after getting slashed was hazy, but she still remembered the offer N had made her. Remembering her wounds, she craned her head as far forward as she could manage. The fur on her chest was shaved off, and the exposed, pale flesh was criss-crossed with black stitches.

“Most of it. What happened?”

“Fisher picked up Colson’s emergency beacon,” Celeste said. “Luckily, it was shielded a bit better than the rest of his circuits. When he saw your wounds, he sent scouts inside, and none of them made it out alive.” She grimaced. “The mission was called off, but it hardly matters after the casualties the WK took.”

Seven rose from the table. Her legs trembled beneath her, but she walked over to Admin Colson’s bed with the help of a rolling IV stand. His chest was peeled back, revealing a metal interior full of motherboards, coolant systems, wires, and tiny machines.

“What happened to him?” she asked.

Celeste glanced at her and set her tools on a table. “The EMP overloaded many of the circuits in his chest cavity, preventing his motor functions from working properly, damaging his power core, and disabling the software that regulated his internal functions.”

“No, I mean, what made him this way?” Seven gestured at Colson’s gaping, robotic chest cavity.

“Ah. Well, six years ago, Colson failed a mission, and our boss offered him a choice: die, or get cybernetic enhancements. The original plan called for an internal computer and a robotic eye, but the pressure from its metal housing strained his cardiovascular system. We replaced that with synthetic components, but it couldn’t deliver enough blood to his brain. He went into cerebral hypoxia, so we had to replace that too.” Celeste shrugged and said, “I think you get the picture.”

Seven took a closer look at his chest. There was a vague suggestion of a synthetic stomach that was connected to his mouth, with batteries and bundles of wires wrapped around it. Fans and cooling vents replaced his lungs, and in place of a heart, he had a block of motherboards studded with transistors.

“So, is he human?” Seven asked.

Celeste smiled. “That’s for philosophers to decide. We salvaged what we could of his mind, since his computing skills would make operating his new body a lot easier, but I know there’s a lot of memories that got damaged in the process. No different than our own brains, I suppose.” She mulled it over and said, “You thought he was human, didn’t you?”

“Yeah.”

“Then maybe that’s all that matters.” She picked up a tablet and brushed through a few emails. “You better get back to your quarters. Shower, put on a fresh uniform, and get something to eat. You’re scheduled for a meeting in eighty minutes.”

The showers in her room were equipped with half a dozen showerheads, each spraying powerful jets of water that drenched her thick mat of fur. She scrubbed herself thoroughly. Red stains mingled with the white suds that circled down the drain. The gashes on her chest stung, but the stitches held. She searched for other cuts before realizing that her fur was soiled with old blood.

Once the shampoo ran white off her body, she turned off the water and stepped out of the shower. Thick clumps of black fur, caught in the trap at the drain, sealed in the water. She pried the trap free, taking care to pull up all the hair with it, and flung it in the garbage. A fresh plastic trap replaced the old one. She checked the floor and removed the few specks of fur she found.

Compared to the thick padded robes of the White Knights, her Admin uniform, white jacket and pants, along with custom-tailored boots, felt uncomfortably exposed. Even wrapped in illusion, unseen eyes watched her.

Seven called her second in command, Blacksmith, and arranged to meet with him over lunch. Ten minutes later, the swarthy, stony-jawed man knocked on her door, carrying a giant metal tray laden with steaks, seafood, chopped berries, and four bottles of cola.

“It’s good to see you again Commander,” he said. “I asked permission to visit you in the hospital, but I was informed that you were in critical condition.”

Seven didn’t know how much they were told, so she said, “I’m still healing, but my duties don’t permit me to stay in bed all day.”

Blacksmith nodded and set the tray on her table. Seven picked at the plates while Blacksmith gave her a run-down of her squad’s missions and incomes. When he asked her opinions, she told him to stop buying more munitions and funnel funds into gambling dens.

“Are you sure that’s wise?” he asked.

Seven shrugged. “The White Knights are finished.”

Blacksmith frowned at her and cut into a thick steak. Dark-red juices gushed from the meat and soaked the plate.

“You haven’t been debriefed yet, have you?”

“I just woke up half an hour ago.” Seven sliced into a fried cod, dipped it in a tub of tartar sauce, and chewed on it while Blacksmith explained everything they had found in the ruins of the White Knight hideout.

“To sum it up, there’s an army of feral pokemon led by Bruno on the outskirts of the city, and more wild pokemon join them every day. The White Knights are presumed destroyed, along with a tenth of the city’s police force and a few lucario.”

“And with this new, bigger threat, the city will be willing to negotiate with us.”

“That’s the meeting you’re going to,” Blacksmith said. “The Sages are coming in person, and they aren’t leaving without our help.” He chuckled and bit into his steak. “Giovanni’s gonna bleed them dry.”

Seven reached for another piece of cod, but all that remained were breadcrumbs. She pushed the plate aside and helped herself to a bowl of pecha berries. “Will anyone else be there?”

“The police commissioner, for one.” Blacksmith cracked open a bottle of cola and chugged half of it. “The leader of the lucario was also supposed to show up, but something changed. I don’t know much else, they just told me that in case I’d need to fill in for you.”

“What do you know about the Sages?” Seven refrained from saying she had met one, but her arms trembled at the mere thought of Ghestis.

Blacksmith didn’t notice Seven’s discomfort. “Well, of the Seven, Ghetsis, head of research and education, was the craftiest. It’s a good thing we waxed him in his lab, otherwise he might spin this situation to his advantage. Gorm’s the most prominent now, being in charge of law enforcement. Then there’s Bronius, in public relations, a smooth talker without a spine, and Rood… eh, the rest don’t matter. Just let Giovanni do all the talking and look attentive. Alright?”

He stood, bowed, and turned towards the door. As he was halfway through the door, Seven said, “I have one more question.”

Blacksmith’s shoulders were so wide, had to step out into the hallway before he could turn and face her. He nodded, and Seven took a deep breath.

“What do you think of me?”

Blacksmith frowned and brought a hand up to his chin. “In what way?”

Seven hid her uneasiness by cracking open a bottle of soda and taking a sip. The carbonation and sugar overpowered her tongue, but she drank without changing her expression.

“As an Admin,” Seven answered. “Is there anything that I can improve on?”

Blacksmith relaxed. His shoulders loosened, and he took a swig of soda. “If you were doing anything wrong, you’d be dead already.” After a moment’s pause, he glanced away. “Do I have permission to speak freely?”

Either carbonation or stress caused her stomach to roil. Seven clenched her hands and said, “I wouldn’t ask if I wasn’t willing to hear anything I don’t want to hear.”

“Alright then.” Blacksmith drained the rest of his soda, stuffed the empty bottle in his pants pocket, and said, “I don’t mean any disrespect, but I get the sense you’re… inexperienced.”

“Inexperienced how?” Seven’s feared the answer, but she waited for it to fall like the blade of a guillotine.

“In management,” Blacksmith said. “There’s… inefficiency in the way you handle operations. Too many loads moving back and forth, personnel deployed at odd times, unbalanced budget.” Blacksmith paused, and hastily added, “If it were serious, Giovanni would’ve removed you already. I suppose he’s expecting you to grow into the role.

Seven’s unease fizzled out, and she felt herself relax into her chair. “Do you have any suggestions?”

“Study what the other Admins do, especially Celeste. There’s a reason she manages the Team’s finances.”

Blacksmith bowed and vanished down the hallway. Seven picked at the remaining platters, mulling over what her second in command had said to her. He said nothing about odd behavior, or seeming out of touch with people. Perhaps no one could tell she wasn’t human, like Colson.

She suppressed a shiver at the memory of his chest opened up, straightened her uniform, and locked her door. Going away from Giovanni’s door, she turned a corner and found the conference room. Giovanni and Fisher were seated on the far side of the room, seated at a long table. Four empty chairs remained.

Delicate slices of ham and cheese rested on silver platters. Mounds of crackers, whole wheat and rye, salty and baked with herbs, had a bowl for each variety, and an assortment of fruits and nuts, from dried pecha and apicot berries to slivers of chesto, had tiny plates orbiting the central platters.

“Hey, good to see you’re in one piece,” Fisher called as Seven entered. “At least, you look like it.”

She nodded and took a seat at Giovanni’s right. The Rocket Boss, dressed in a sleek, gray suit with a red tie, regarded her without a word.

Seven bit into a chesto sliver and savored its dry, nutty flavor. As Seven reached for a slice of ham, the door opened. She withdrew her hand and watched the newcomers.

Seven bristled at the first to enter, a lucario clothed in plain white robes. She could only see the tip of his muzzle, but she recognized the glossy blue fur. The second, a tall, stony man in a police uniform, adjusted his blue officer’s cap and seated himself in a side seat, as far from Giovanni as the table corner allowed him.

The third froze Seven’s blood in her veins. She heard him before she saw him, the rhythmic thump-tap thump-tap of his stride and cane pounding the floor. He was robed in black and gray, like a shadow from the grave, with pale-gold hair streaming in thin, wispy locks. A red eyepiece hid one eye, but the other, a striking green gem, pierced her soul with its unwavering gaze.

It took all of Seven’s strength to cling to her illusion as she wondered how Ghetsis had come back to life.


	54. Chapter 54

N paused before the doorway to Giovanni’s conference room to check his illusion. The dark robes were real, taken from Ghetsis’ wardrobe as he had escaped Atheros Labs. They had a musty smell that didn’t wash out. His pink, blobby flesh stuck to the robes, and his fur itched where it grazed the robe, but he kept one hand firmly on the cane. The other stayed in the left picket, clutching a folded piece of paper.

The eyepiece was real too, and though it was prone to fall off of his dripping face, the visual-based interface had its benefits. With it, he surveyed the layout of the Rocket facility and planned optimal entry points for an all-out assault, gleaned rough estimates of Team Rocket’s numbers, and accessed restricted files within servers half a mile below his feet. His control often slipped, but the device hacked and planned by itself with an efficiency that made N give grudging respect to his and the eyepiece’s creator. The cane felt unnaturally heavy, crafted from solid oak blackened by fire and age, and banded with gold near the end. Two rubies, embedded in a carving of a bird’s head, glowed dully in between his fingers.

Elder Bayron led the procession into the room, as they had agreed. N knew Giovanni wouldn’t be cowed by a show of force, but it was important to make the right first impression. With a gesture, Commissioner Mason walked past him. N waited a moment before making his own entry, taking care to tap out a precise beat with his cane, a beat that still woke him some nights.

He didn’t need the eyepiece to know which of the three Rockets sitting at the far end of the table was Seven. Her illusion wavered for the briefest moment, and she shrank back when he entered the room. Giovanni, however, showed no surprise.

“I was under the impression that Gorm would be the one attending.”

N smiled and took a seat. “He sends his apologies. A project requires his urgent attention, so I volunteered to take his place.” The assortment of fruits, ham, and cheeses tempted him, but he kept both hands on his cane, squeezing it so his hands wouldn’t shake. 

“How kind of you.” Giovanni’s cold, green gaze swept over him like a splash of icy water. Then the boss took a bottle of hand sanitizer out of his pocket and squirted a generous dollop onto his palm. 

N’s nose wrinkled at the harsh scent of alcohol. Silence settled over the group. Seven reached for a slice of ham, the Commissioner helped himself to coffee after giving it a cautious sniff, and the Elder regarded the Rockets with a hard blue stare, his eyes glowing like backlit sapphires from the aura coursing through his body. Fisher returned the stare, but Giovanni meticulously rubbed his hands, working the sanitizer into every pore on his skin.

N waited for someone else to break the silence. No one did. He mulled over his options for a moment, and his gaze settled on Seven.

“You have something of mine,” he said.

Giovanni blinked and looked up. “Perhaps. I have lots of things of lots of people.”

“I think I would like to have it back.”

Seven hid her fear well, but her eyes darted towards Giovanni. The Rocket boss kept his gaze on N as he said, “If I gave back everything I had ever stolen, I’d have nothing left.”

N made a show of stroking his chin and took the opportunity to adjust his cloak. “Perhaps I should make it a part of our deal.”

Seven’s eyes widened, but Giovanni’s blank expression never wavered. “Suppose I refuse. What then?”

Seven slumped back in her chair, but N pressed his point. “Then how about I make you Prime Minister. That is what you want, isn’t it?”

N had expected a glimmer of greed in Giovanni’s eyes, or a slight shifting of his shoulders, but the boss’ mask didn’t twitch a muscle.

“With just a word from me, parliament would name you minister within a day. I could have representatives replaced as well, if you wish.”

Seven’s fingers froze halfway to a slice of cheese. She glanced back at Giovanni, but the boss didn’t meet her enquiring eyes. His gaze stayed on N, like augurs drilling into N’s skull.

“An empty title,” he said. “You’d have me replaced the moment I became inconvenient.”

N shrugged, shifting the cloak around and adjusting the eyepiece. “Perhaps another time. For now, let’s discuss the matter at hand.”

The deal mostly panned out as N had expected. They would coordinate their attack on Bruno, using whatever contingencies available to them. N made sure to mention Gorm’s nuclear devices and promised only to use them as a last resort. In addition, the police would turn a blind eye to Giovanni’s tax evasion, minor theft, and civil code violations, and in exchange, Giovanni would allow the police to make a public show of raiding a few strip clubs. However, Giovanni made one request that took him and the police aback.

“I have heard that you have an item important to the lucario. Do you intend to use it?”

Commissioner Mason licked his lips and shifted in his chair. “I – we have decided to use it, yes. Without it, we would have no hope of matching Bruno’s strength.”

“I would like to study it.”

The Elder narrowed his eyes and growled. “Absolutely not. The Mega Stone isn’t some –”

N silenced him with a wave of his hand. The Elder glared daggers, but he sat back and crossed his arms.

“We have little time for study,” N said.

“It will take at least forty-eight hours to mobilize troops and distribute weapons,” Giovanni countered. “That will be all the time that I require.”

The request left a foul taste in N’s mouth, like the sanitizer clinging to the air, but he could see no reason to refuse.

“I suppose that if we deny this ‘small request’, you will back out of our deal?”

Giovanni said nothing as he folded his hands and waited. N waited for a minute, though the silence felt as heavy and uncomfortable as his cloak. He used the time to ponder what Giovanni wanted with the Mega Stone and came up with no better answer than to find a contingency for if it was used against him.

“Very well. You may study it for twenty-four hours. Have it returned to my office.”

“Thirty-six hours.”

N raised an eyebrow and replied, “Thirty. We can’t afford any delays because of this.”

The corners of Giovanni’s mouth curved up the slightest bit. So subtle was the movement that N almost missed it.

“Done.”

With a nod from N, Commissioner Mason reached into the inside of his coat and drew out a cloth bundle. He unwrapped it, exposing the luminous blue sphere within. Giovanni’s eyes drank in the light, and the shadows cast around his eyes transformed his gaze into flickering will-o-wisps.

N unfolded two pieces of paper from his pocket and slid it to Giovanni. The boss took a pen out of a suit pocket, a sleek fountain pen with a metal cap on the end. After writing in the terms for studying the Mega Stone on each one he signed at the bottom and handed it to Commissioner Mason. The Chief of Police signed, as did Elder Bayron. N signed last in as close an imitation of Ghetsis’ writing as he could manage. Though he had practiced it, the t was slightly lopsided on one, and the e a touch too tight for the other.

Giovanni made no comment as he gave one copy to Fisher. N put the other back in his pocket, took the Mega Stone from Mason, and slid it past the platters.

“It will be a pleasure doing business with you again,” Giovanni said as he pocketed the Mega Sphere.

“There is no pleasure in business,” N answered, “Especially not with you.”

Two Grunts, who were waiting down the hall, led them out of the facility. Elder Bayron glared at N. With a sigh, he wrapped them both in an illusion to hide their mouths and voices.

“We can talk,” he said while looking straight forward. “Be sure not to do anything conspicuous.”

“You shouldn’t have given him the Mega Stone,” the Elder said. “It’s too dangerous.”

“Ghetsis studied that thing for years, and he never found a way to weaponize it. What’s the harm in giving it to Giovanni for a day?”

The Elder frowned. “This is exactly why humans shouldn’t have these things. Give them a gift, and the first thought they have is for killing others with it.”

“Are pokemon any better?”

Bayron’s frown deepened, but he made no argument. Instead, he said, “I still think this is a mistake.”

“I don’t disagree,” N replied, “But it is our only reasonable option. Bruno must be stopped, and after that, you know the humans will come after you next.”

“Yes, but separating ourselves from them will only invite war. Living among them, as we do now, is the only peaceful solution.”

N shifted the cloak. It felt more itchy and oppressive than ever, but he had to keep wearing it. “We’re past the point of peace. The best we can hope for now is an armistice.”

Elder Bayron’s eyes fell, and his shoulders slumped. “This is all wrong. We were meant to live side by side, to help each other, to grow with one another.”

“I used to believe the same.”

They walked for another dozen paces in silence. Then the Elder said, “This mess is my fault. I should have never let Bruno go. I tried justifying it, saying that he was more resilient, that I would keep a close eye on him, that he had an excellent partner that had trained with us for years. And now, because of me, we face a war against the humans.”

Tremors ran up N’s arm each time the cane slammed onto the concrete floor. His arm sagged from its weight, but he gripped the ruby-studded handle with all his strength.

“No one is at fault, Bayron. It’s just nature, ours and theirs.”

Gregory drove the Elder back to the police station, while N took a separate car. The white Lexus seemed plain from the outside, but the interior was remade, with just the driver’s seat and a lounge in the back right corner. A wine bar sat behind the driver, and a fridge occupied the space once taken by the passenger seat. N helped himself to a bowl of pecha berries and cream while the driver took him to the Jubilife Building.

Parliament convened in the upper levels of Jubilife, but the Seven Sages ruled from below, in concrete-lined bunkers crammed full of computers.

An elevator, hidden down a hallway past two sets of guards, took him down to the lower levels. In the lobby, Gorm, in stiff military attire with enough badges of honor to decorate a Christmas tree, sipped a glass of champagne in the waiting area.

“Ah, Ghetsis! I trust everything went well?”

N handed him the signed document. Gorm glanced through it and handed it back.

“What’s that about the Mega Stone?”

“A trifle,” N replied. “We have everything we need from him.”

Gorm smiled. “The trap is set. All we need now is the bait.”

N returned the smile, but beneath his illusion, his face hardened. “Leave that to me.”

As N turned away, Gorm tapped the neck of a champagne bottle. “Let’s have a toast, to the destruction of Team Rocket and the lucario. Two birds, one stone.”

An image flashed in the eyepiece – the blast radius of a nuclear bomb dropped from an orbiting satellite, scouring away the city’s deserted outskirts and its unwanted vermin.

“I only celebrate after I have won.”

N went to Ghetsis’ office. A layer of dust had settled over the bare furnishings, and the bed smelled faintly of mold. He put the cloak in a wooden closet and fell onto the mattress, sinking into the memory foam. Joy bubbled inside of him, joy at his impending victory, just a few moves away, and yet, a nagging doubt plagued him, telling him it was too soon to celebrate.


	55. Chapter 55

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So... just realized when I was posting Chapter 56 that I had never gotten around to posting Chatper 55. Whoops! Well, now you get two chapters at once.

Seven’s hands shook as she wrenched her door open and rushed inside. Jumping onto the bed, she huddled against the corner and wrapped the blankets around her. Each breath came in strangled gasps, and sweat drenched her fur. Lights danced in front of her eyes, and the silky smooth scrape of a scalpel against a metal operating table caressed her ears like a chilly knife.

She looked down at her arms. The illusion had fled, exposing her fur, her shame, to the world. Furrowing her brow, she reached for her power, tried to pull it over herself, but it slipped from her quivering grasp.

“Breathe, calm down,” she told herself through clenched teeth. “Giovanni won’t let him have me. He can’t get me now. I’m free. I’m free.”

A knock came at the door. Seven jumped and shoved herself against the wall, raising the blanket so it blocked her face.

“Boss wants to talk to you,” Admin Fisher said. “He’ll be in his office.”

Seven scrambled out of bed, straightened her uniform, and went to the door.

“T – tell him I’ll be there in a minute.”

“Giovanni says you can take as much time as you need, so long as you come within the hour, and come discreetly. See you later, Steven.”

Admin Fisher strode down the hall. His boots clomped on the concrete floor. Once his footsteps faded into silence, Seven grabbed a cup of water and chugged it down. Licking her lips, she closed her eyes and concentrated on molding a new illusion, taking the wobbling energy inside of her and carefully stretching it into place. The jacket was lopsided, and the pants were missing pockets, but it was good enough for a stroll down the hall.

Giovanni’s door was cracked open. Seven knocked on it and the door opened halfway. Giovanni was looking at a tablet propped up on his desk and rubbing sanitizer on his hands.

“You came earlier than I expected,” he said.

Seven bowed. “Forgive me, I didn’t expect to see… him again.”

“I wasn’t expecting that either,” Giovanni said, “Else I would have warned you.” He ran his fingers over the offered chair, but he didn’t take a seat. In the dim, green light filtering through the ferns, his stony, prominent cheekbones painted long shadows across his face, like moss on a boulder. “That was a pretty good imitation, don’t you think?”

“I – imitation?”

Giovanni stood and straightened his suit. “What I am about to show you does not leave this room. Understood?”

Seven nodded. Giovanni walked over to the waterfall and reached for the stone behind. The water parted around his hand. When his fingertips pressed against the stone, a green light flickered across the gray marble surface. With a click, the water stopped, and the stone slid into the floor without a sound. The water in the basin drained away until not a single bead of moisture remained.

“Don’t try coming in here yourself,” Giovanni said. “That water will turn to acid if anyone but me tries that.”

Seven nodded and hurried after him. The space beyond was pitch black, with a subtle green glow illuminating the metal corridor from behind her. The rock slid back into place, but before the darkness swallowed her whole, red lights lit up the ceiling, washing everything below in soft, indirect light the color of blood.

To either side of her, there were rows of giant glass tanks, each filled with a clear, jelly-like substance. The right-hand side had pink, humanoid creatures. At first glance, Seven thought they might have been distant cousins of N, but the flesh was too dark and solid. Each successive tank had larger and more developed specimens, and the farthest down stood a foot taller than Giovanni, with stubby three-fingered hands, a dark, rounded tail as long as its body, and a bulging, horned head.

The left-side, however, stole Seven’s breath away. Ghetsis was in each of the ten tanks to the left. In some, his skull had been removed, exposing his pale, wrinkled brain. In others, he stared at her with glassy brown eyes. Even with white cloth wrapped about his waist, he seemed nude, incomplete, without his red eyepiece.

“What is this?” Seven asked.

Giovanni tapped a tank. “This is where I keep my most prized and dangerous projects. It also serves as the final resting place of the two most dangerous individuals I have ever known.”

He walked over to the last tank on the right and looked up at the creature. “I was a much younger man, a graduate student studying under Dr. Ghetsis, when I set out to create the perfect weapon. He was quick to offer his help and resources, and quick to heap the blame on me when it turned against me and its other creators. Using the incident, Ghetsis launched himself into power, while I was cast down into the city’s crime-ridden underbelly.”

Giovanni turned back to the rows of Ghetsis bodies. “Naturally, I tried to dispose of him. The first time, I had a bomb planted on the underside of his limousine. I watched as flames stripped the flesh from his bones, cracked them open, and boiled the marrow inside. Yet, a week later, he gave a speech at a science convention.”

He walked over to the first tank. “Next time, I made sure to recover the body. I had an Admin of mine stab him in the ribs. See, the cut’s right there.”

Seven looked closer and saw a thin, pink line held shut with plastic sutures.

“I thought I had won. The next day, he paid me a visit, had a cup of tea with me, and offered to have the police overlook my casinos and safehouses in exchange for his body. I declined. During that week, I lost half of my finances and men to a string of police raids.”

Giovanni looked back at her and cleared her throat. “I didn’t mean to talk for so long. I’ll get straight to the point.”

He walked over to the last tank, and Seven followed him.

“I was planning a raid on Atheros labs for months, mainly to acquire you. However, a week before the date, I received an anonymous tip about the lab beneath Atheros Labs. A cloning lab.”

“I had known for a long time that Ghetsis was cloning himself. Cloning a body is simple, but cloning a mind… that’s the challenge. I’ve wanted a brain sample to study, to see how it was done. In every sample I’ve collected, that eyepiece of his fried his brain. Every sample, but the one I recovered from his private lab.

He walked over to the furthest tank. Seven paused to look at the penultimate Ghetsis. His chest was a pulpy ruin, with shards of his ribs jutting out of putrid flesh. The heart, bared to the amniotic fluid, had two chunks torn from it.

“This sample,” Giovanni said, gesturing at the final tank, “Had a perfectly intact brain. No signs of surgery, or chemical engineering, or cybernetic tweaking. Nothing. In short, I still don’t know how he did it.”

The brain was detached from the rest of the body, floating in front of Ghetsis’ eyes. Metal probes were inserted into multiple areas, and cables wound their way out of the fluid, to a computer.

“Ghetsis was always a cunning man,” Giovanni said as he followed the wires to a console. “He had the brain fried, even though there was never anything inside. Because of that, overlooked the most obvious answer.”

He shook his head. “It’s done and over with anyways. His lab is destroyed, along with his means of resurrection.” He turned away from the clones and walked towards the door. “The problem is that anonymous caller. They provided detailed information about security detail, building layout, everything. In exchange, they wanted funds and weapons. I kept track of the goods and found that they were collected by the White Knights. Then Fisher brought back your knife from the warehouse raid, and I learned the full extent of my mistake.”

When Giovanni approached the exit, the stone slid aside, and the lights turned off. It sealed itself again when Seven passed through, and water resumed its descent down the marble surface.

“So, that Ghetsis was N?” Seven asked.

“Without a doubt.” Giovanni sat at his desk and pumped a dollop of sanitizer onto his hands. “N isn’t half as clever as his creator, but he’s far more dangerous. Ghetsis… he could be reasoned with. But N, he is only interested in my downfall.”

“What do you want me to do?”

“You will return the Mega Stone to the police department. While you’re there, I need you to steal the Commissioner’s keycard.”

“The lucario will be there.”

“They will be,” Giovanni said, “Which is part of the point. When your enemy suspects treachery, the best way to stab them in the back is to wait for them, anticipating an attack from the rear, to turn around.” He pulled open a desk drawer and set an ID on the table. It bore the Commissioner’s stony face and the seal of the Seven Sages. “In other words, they’ll be so busy looking for illusions that they will never notice a little sleight of hand.”

“When you asked for the Mega Stone…”

“Just an excuse to get you in the door.”

Seven nodded. “I will do as you command.”

“Good. You may leave.”

*******

Admin Celeste arrived a minute after Seven left. She held a bulging cloth pouch in one hand and a clipboard in the other.

“The application is done, sir.”

“Good. Will it work as intended?”

“I’ve run clinical trials on the tissue samples from Bruno. Without a whole specimen, it’s impossible to tell how quickly the poison will act, but it should take a minimum of four hours.”

“Then it is check.” He kneaded the isopropyl alcohol into his pores. “Not checkmate, I’m afraid. I still don’t have a way to deal with N. That said, without any allies, there’s little he could do against me.”

“What will the next move be?” Celeste asked.

“Watch and wait. Whatever happens, in two days time, I’ll have far fewer enemies in the world. Now leave me, I have business to attend to.”

Celeste nodded and left the room. Once he was sure he was alone, Giovanni opened the waterfall passage again. This time, he strode straight towards the last tank on the right and rapped on the glass.

“Hello, old friend. Have you made your decision yet?”

Inside the tank, the creature’s eyes opened. Eyes like slivers of glass, sharp, pale, and eerily reflective, blinked at him.

“I tire of being in this cage,” it said in Giovanni’s mind. “I will do as you ask.”


	56. Chapter 56

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have I done any editing on this yet? Well... no. Kinda hard for me to get work done when all my weekends are getting eaten up by holiday activities, work, and birthdays. At least I managed this much and a little something else I was working on. Let's see... my stretch goal for next month is to get the first two chapters edited alongside the new chapter. I'm hoping I can get more done than that, but the first chapter will need a handful of new details sprinkled in. So, stay tuned. I'll put info about updates in the author's notes. Thanks for your patience.

The white-hot rivers of molten iron coursing through Bruno’s veins cooled to a soft, orange glow as he sat atop a throne of human skulls, fastened together with metal bands reforged from the fallen soldiers’ weapons. All around him, his thralls piled stone, timber, and metal into the beginnings of his new castle. The wind howled through the empty windows on the north and south walls. A giant archway in the east wall marked the entrance, wide enough to permit six aggron standing shoulder to shoulder. Sunlight poured through it and made the tiny quartz crystals in his floor glitter. 

The empty suburbs on the eastern side of the city, along with a stand of forests across a river, were leveled for land and material. His servants dragged every pokemon to him from within twenty miles. They were all his now.

As he left the city, leaving a trail of blood and broken bodies, the anger woke new desire in him. All pokemon would bow before him. If they refused, he would make them. If they resisted, he would crush them beneath his heel. Any humans that might oppose him, he would slaughter until rivers of blood rushed through city streets. The fear that had haunted him, the confusion, the helpless anger and sorrow, guilt and despair, he would scour them from all pokemon, all across the world. Never again would he, or any other like him, be a prisoner.

But first, he needed more pawns.

The steady flapping of leathery wings announced the arrival of a charizard. It hauled a net woven of torn clothing. Inside were dozens of wriggling bodies. Bruno smelled their fear, heard the tears trickle down their faces and soak into the cloth, felt the air vibrate with their thrashing. They would be free of that fear soon enough.

The charizard dropped the net at the foot of Bruno throne and flew off. The pokemon scrambled away from him, but Bruno stopped them with a single flick of his paw.

“That is no way to greet your lord and savior,” he said. “Kneel.”

They struggled, but the aura shacking them drove them to the ground. Bruno studied the pokemon before him, a handful of caterpie, some oddish, a pair of machop, four squirtle, and a couple mareep. He rose from his throne, walked down the steps of the dais, and stopped in front of a machop. The pokemon flinched when Bruno placed a paw on its shoulder, but when the power ebbed out of Bruno and surged into the machop, it relaxed. Its skin glowed as white as his anger, and within moments, it towered over him, flexing its four arms with a contented smile.

“Get to work,” Bruno told the machamp. It lumbered towards the lumber pile and helped shore up the southern wall.

The remaining pokemon went wide-eyed. Veins bulged as they struggled against their bonds, but the aura held them fast. One by one, Bruno freed them of that fear and sent them to build.

Bruno grimaced at his brittle, lumpy throne as he took a seat. He thought that perhaps he had taken the idea of building his new empire on the bones of humanity a little too literally. As he debated what would better serve as a throne, a reuniclus floated towards him.

“How are our supplies?” he asked it. The psychic already knew what he wanted, but speaking first was a show of power. He would never be powerless again.

“Food is getting low,” the reuniclus said telepathically. “We’ve made irrigation ditches and planted berries, but it will be months before we get a harvest. In the mean time, we will have to send more foraging parties. The rivers are running out of fish. We will need a new source of meat.”

“Building materials?”

The reuniclus’ body pulsated as it gave its answer. “We have plenty of wood and stone, but we’re running low on metal. We may have to go deeper into human territory to get more.”

Bruno rubbed the eye sockets of a skull on his armrest as he mulled over the situation. “Leave the humans alone for now. They will come to us soon enough, and after I crush them, we’ll have all the metal we need. Send more foragers to the east.” Bruno frowned and sifted through his old memories. Each one tasted as salty as dried tears. “Even further east, there should be farms. Steal their cattle. That should get us through the month.”

The pop of displaced air announced the arrival of another psychic, a claydol his servants had dug up and dragged before him. It hovered just below his eye level, waiting for him to speak.

“What news from the human city?” he asked.

“Team Rocket and the Sages have joined forces,” it told them. “They will be upon us in two days.”

Bruno grinned. As his pulse quickened, the fury in his veins roared like a furnace with its bellows pumping. Energy rippled the air around him, and the two psychics backed away.

“They’ve done me the favor of bringing all my greatest enemies in one place. I think I’ll answer their courtesy by making sure they get quick, clean deaths.” He looked back at the throne. Perhaps if he gathered more skulls, crushed them into powder, and sculpted them into a smoother seat, he could rest easier on his throne.

Bruno turned towards the reuniclus. “Keep all my servants close. Send out a few foraging groups to get some more supplies and servants, and have them back here within a day.”

“There are no more pokemon to be found,” the psychic replied. “None for a long distance.”

Bruno scowled. He should have known that, but he had dulled his ability to sense aura. Even from here, if he opened himself up, he could feel her aura, a setting sun resplendent with violet and crimson, opposing the golden glow of the sun rising over his domain.

“Then just get the berries,” he said with heat in his voice. “We’ll make do with what we have.”

The claydol hummed, and its two arms twitch with unspoken words. Bruno made it wait for a minute before asking, “What is it?”

“I calculate that we do not nearly have enough strength to defeat the humans,” it said. “I know you are mighty, mightier than the other lucario, but with the humans aiding them, we don’t have a chance. We should retreat and gather more forces.”

Bruno grinned at it. “There’s no need. I have something in reserve that will allow us to crush anything in our path.”

There were the thirty-two sleeping bedridden pokemon he had found in the White Knights hideout, thirty-two with pools of aura stirring inside of them. In his frenzy, he had overlooked them as he crushed the Knights, but after his temper cooled, he went back. There they remained, waiting for someone to free them. Free them he did. He set them loose, sent them as his messengers, scattered them far and wide to marshal his forces.

His grin froze on his face. They were out there, but distant and scattered. Most would be late to the battle, but even three would be enough to turn the tide in his favor. But to call those three, he would have to open himself up.

Closed up in his castle, the fires he had kindled in the pokemon around him kept him warm, kept him numb to the pain gnawing at his soul. But open, exposed to that chilly sun in the west and all the old, salty memories, he felt the fear he had sworn to destroy.

“Leave me,” he said, sending out the command as a pulse of aura. Every head turned towards him. They shuddered, and they retreated to the stands of trees across the river.

Once he was alone, Bruno sat on his throne, savoring the feel of warm bone beneath his fur. Then he opened himself up. The collection of bodies harboring his aura drew him east, but that violet temptation that had ruined his life proved stronger. Mile by mile, he was drawn towards cold despair. Violet engulfed his vision, and chills racked his body.

A voice whispered into his ear, its breath frosty against his ears. “You murdered him.”

Memories came unbidden, piled one on top of another like tangled rolls of film. Movie theaters, coffee shops, the bed they had shared, the cracking of Peter’s spine as he gave the officer one last embrace.

“He was there to kill me,” he snarled. “He betrayed me and brought the lucario. It was him or me.”

The voice chuckled. “You know that’s not true.”

Bruno dug in his feet, but he was drawn inexorably closer to his old, dead memories. His eyes stung, but he refused to let the tears flow.

“I have to do this for their sakes.” He strained towards the warm, orange glow in the east. “The humans will enslave them all, make them prisoners like I was.”

“The Rockets might,” the voice said, snarling, “But the police never would.”

“Really? They’re working with Team Rocket now. Who knows what kind of deal they have.”

The memories’ icy grip on him loosened enough for him to wrench free. He shot eastward until he found another pinprick of light and warmth. He reached out, touched it, transferred his instructions. The mawile on the other end gave its assent and sped towards another group. Bruno roamed the land until he found four more, bands numbering in the hundreds led by his aura-wielding knights. 

With his message sent, Bruno drifted back into his own body. The arms of his chairs had been crushed to splinters, and one shard had pricked his paw. A drop of blood fell and hit the quartz at his feet with a wet smack, a rushing waterfall pounding against boulders to his heightened senses. He pressed a finger into the wound. The pain filled his arm with a fiery sensation that held back the freezing numbness in his chest.

He reached out to the pawns across the river and told them to return. Then he shut out the rest of the world, focusing on the hot, wet stickiness on his paws. He felt colder, somehow, with the light of Seven’s soul sealed from his senses, but the warmth within him was all he needed.

When the psychics approached him, he wiped his paws on the broken arm rest. “Have this repaired,” he told them. “I want everything ready for when our guests arrive.”

The claydol examined him with its beady red eyes. “It is done?”

Anger rose up in him, and he stopped to savor it before setting it aside. It would not do to reduce the number of his servants before the battle began. “You have no need for concern. Fear and worry are the shackles I have broken.”

It studied him for a moment. Then it said, “I never knew fear until you made me yours. Whatever concern I demonstrate is an extension of your own insecurities.”

The anger came bubbling back. Before he could even think to stop himself, he had crushed the claydol into crumbly brown powder. The reuniclus gazed at him without any expression in its tiny black eyes, scooped up the powder with its psychic abilities, and left him.

He leaned back into his chair. Soon enough, the game would be over. He would destroy the humans, and then he would destroy all the old memories, the fear and anguish that haunted him. He would be free.

A shudder ran up his spine.


	57. Chapter 57

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got good news - I finally managed to start updating this story! I met my two chapter stretch goal, not just adding in a few things to make it align with the changes I made, but also sprucing up the writing. It's surprising to see how many improvements I could make to that first chapter, and I'm sure I'd see more in another year's time. In any event, there's nothing earth-shattering in those changes, but feel free to read them and see how it's different. I'll put in a changelog as well to reflect the general differences.

N brought the mug of coffee to his lips, but he did not drink. The bitter black liquid brushed his goopy, pink lips, and the odor made his nose wrinkle up. He hid his distaste behind the illusion he wore.

Meanwhile, the computerized monocle over his right eye filled his gaze with reports on Gregory Mason – his medical history, records of service, recent purchases at a local liquor store, all filed, weighed, and processed slowly enough for the information to settle into his brain. The computer seemed too fast, at first, but over time, it adjusted the output of information to match what he could handle. It even seemed to account for times he was tired or distracted by conversations. N could almost feel the AI digging into his brain.

Commissioner Mason sat across from him, pouring himself a third cup. Coffee stains darkened his lips, and sleepless nights darkened the hollows of his eyes. He had shaved early that morning, but fine gray stubble had grown in.

“You didn’t have to come out here for this, sir. I could have called you immediately once we had it.”

N shook his head. “I must verify that Giovanni hasn’t tampered with the Mega Stone.”

Gregory gulped down some coffee and rubbed at his temples. “Do you really think he’d do that?”

The mask he wore smiled, but underneath, N scowled. “He was too insistent on having it not to have something planned. He may mean to render it unusable or even kill the Elder.”

Gregory pursed his lips. “About that, sir, should we really be giving them the Mega Stone? I understand it’s important going up against Bruno, but what about after? They would’ve sided with the Knights given the chance.”

“The Knights are gone,” Ghetsis said, “And the Lucario have as much reason to want both Bruno and the Rockets gone as we do.”

Gregory’s eyes darted up from his mug. “So, you mean to do something about the Rockets?”

This time, N’s smile matched his illusion. “Not now. All our attention must be on Bruno if we are to get through this crisis. The Rockets can be dealt with later.”

The Commissioner glanced away. “Uh, I meant to say, you plan on siding with the Lucario against them? I – I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

N frowned at that change of phrasing. He shrugged it off. It’s only natural, given what happened to Bruno. “I understand your misgivings,” N said, “But their support is vital, especially since Giovanni has Subject Seven. That is why I asked the Elder to be present today.”

The Commissioner drew in a sharp breath that hissed through his coffee-stained teeth. “You’re giving it to them now? Shouldn’t we at least make sure we have some leverage over them first?”

N shook his head. “How? They need the Mega Stone if they’re going to help us.” He put a hand on Gregory’s shoulder. “The Lucario are willing to negotiate. Bruno is not. If we worry about dealing with all our foes at once, we’ll find ourselves alone in the fight.”

Gregory slumped into his chair. “What has the world come to?” He poured himself another cup of coffee and topped it off with liquor from his coat pocket. “First the White Knights cause trouble, then Stonebough, Bruno getting abducted, two dozen officers dead raiding the WK base, and now this?” He snorted and took a deep swallow of laced coffee. “If I last a month after this shitshow, I'm retiring.” He stopped and looked up at N. “That is, if you'll permit it, sir.”

N looked up at the ceiling and fingered the monocle over his right eye. The gesture, done out of reflex, started him for a second, but he hid the surprised twitch beneath his mask.

“I suppose you've earned it,” N said. “Have a report made for who you think will be a suitable replacement.”

The Commissioner's features relaxed, making him look like a weathered marble statue, grayed out and worn smooth by rain, the cracks only showing under close examination. “Can't wait, sir. Nothing but golf courses and card games, it'll be nice.” Then he grimaced. “Assuming we win.”

“Bruno will be dealt with swiftly. Just one little nuke, and he'll be vaporized. With the Lucario there to distract them, he'll never see it coming.”

Gregory swirled his coffee around. Looking down, his face was darkened by shadows. “I know those things are shielded so they only destroy a small area, but couldn't the fallout destroy the city anyways?”

N waved a hand. “The Lucario agreed to help with that, and if they don't, other Pokémon could do the job.”

“Then there's still the Lucario to deal with.”

“I would be more concerned with the Rockets if I were you,” N growled. “I know they're planning something.”

The Commissioner studied him for a moment. Doubts lurked beneath his eyes. Then he said, “With all due respect, sir, I think the Rockets aren't as big a threat as you seem to think. Yes, they're a crime syndicate with a lot of dangerous weapons and influence, but they're a parasite. They need a host to feed off of and can't survive on their own. Without the power grid, the infrastructure, the agriculture, all the stuff we do, they'd have to fend for themselves. If they were any good at that, they wouldn't be stealing in the first place.”

N was thinking of a reply to that when Gregory drained his mug and said, “But the Lucario? The Pokémon? If they're not predators, they're competition. With us gone, they'd have everything to themselves.” Gregory's cheeks were flushed, and sweat trickled down his brow. “We can't trust them, we just can't.”

N glowered at him, as Ghetsis would, with a raised eyebrow and eyes as cold as chips of ice. “You've been drinking too much.”

The Commissioner gave a start and looked down at his empty mug. He reached into his coat pocket and gave the bottle a quick slosh. “Sorry sir, I won't let it happen again.”

The ring of the door chime ended their conversation. A figure in a white robe strode past the reception counter, despite the receptionist’s protests, and went straight to their room.

“You’re late,” N said with a gruffness he didn’t feel.

Elder Bayron made a short bow and took a seat. “I apologize. My meditations are taking longer than usual. I will not be able to remain in the city for long.”

Gregory stiffened and gripped his chair hard enough to make it squeal. “You’re – you’re not going to…”

Bayron gave a soft, coarse chuckle. “Don’t worry, I’ll leave long before that would happen.

N cleared his throat and asked, “Is everything ready?”

The Elder gazed with him at eyes that saw past both his mask and his question. “Everything is ready. All I need now is the Mega Stone, and we will strike tomorrow.”

As if to punctuate the Elder’s sentence, the door chime rang again. All eyes turned towards the reception area. Though the receptionist’s back was to them, his stiff posture and unsteady hands gave away his unease as he greeted Admin Sun. The Admin regarded him with cold, brown eyes and hefted the pouch in his hand.

“Not his, hers,” N told himself. “No matter how hard she tries, she can never hide who she really is.” He took a look down at himself, at the black robes he had draped around his drooping shoulders. He smothered a chuckle. Ghetsis never showed mirth.

“It’s her,” the Elder whispered low enough that only N caught it.

N hadn’t needed that. He would have known even if it hadn’t been the exact disguise Seven wore last time. The way Steven Sun’s eyes never changed, the stiffness in his stride and the forced curl of his sham smile, all gave lie to the mask Seven wore.

“The Stone?” N asked more loudly.

“Real, though I’ll need a closer look to be sure,” Bayron answered. “Not all illusions are works of shadow.”

The receptionist gestured towards their room. As he approached, two armed officers flanked the Admin, and a third walked behind him. All three of them remained in the room, fingers on the triggers, safeties off.

Steven leaned back in his chair, but N saw the tension underneath the mask. “A bit much, don’t you think?”

N eyed her coolly. The Elder said, “Thirty wouldn’t be enough. Now, will you hand over the Mega Stone?”

Steven nodded, but when the Elder reached out, the Admin wagged a finger at him. “There’s one last condition that Giovanni asked me to fulfill. He wants me to seal the deal with a handshake from all of you.”

N’s throat tightened, and one hand curled into a squishy fist. “All of us?”

Steven looked at the guards. Then her eyes went straight to the Commissioner. The AI examined her every gesture, but N didn’t need its analysis to know something was off. She barely gave him a passing glance. “He wasn’t too specific with the ‘all’ part,” Steven said, “So I guess it means everyone in the room. Just a few handshakes, and you get the Mega Stone.”

The guards went first. Steven gripped their hands firmly enough to make bones grind together. Elder Bayron went next. His eyes were on the cloth pouch in Steven’s left hand as he grabbed the right.

When Gregory’s turn came, he rose unsteadily to his feet, propping himself against a chair. N swore internally, but he showed none of his emotion. As Steven turned towards him, his foot got tangled in the Elder’s robe. Arms flailing, Steven tumbled into the Commissioner, and they went down in a heap. The Mega Stone fell from Steven’s grasp, came loose of its pouch, and rolled across the floor. Elder Bayron scooped up the cloth, ran after the flecked orange stone, and tucked it back into the cloth. Meanwhile, Steven rose slowly from the floor with three pistols pointed at his back.

“Sorry about that,” Steven said with an air of forced casualness. “Lost my footing.”

“No no, I should’ve caught you,” Gregory protested, “I had a bit too –” All at once, he seemed to remember where he was and to whom he was speaking. He cleared his throat. “No harm done.” He shifted his coat around and slapped a hand over one pocket. “Hey, where did my wallet go?”

Steven pointed. “Over there on the floor, looks like it fell out.”

The Admin reached for it, but one of the guards beat her to it. The guard gave Steven a suspicious glare as he handed it back to the Commissioner.

The AI spotted something. N knew from the way its calculations flew into a frenzy the moment Seven tripped. Then it told him that she had intended to take the Commissioner’s keycard while picking up the wallet. N made a mental note to pay the guard a compliment.

Then came Ghetsis’ turn. Seven didn’t flinch when N’s hand met hers. She looked straight into his eyes.

She knows. The AI didn’t have to tell him that, though it did file a detailed report of all that entailed. Giovanni knows. He knows the White Knights still exist. He will plan for it. He may even expose N to the other Sages.

But for now, that didn’t matter. For now, he had the Mega Stone, and they didn’t have the keycard they really wanted from this exchange. N allowed himself a smile behind his mask.

*******

When Seven left the police station, she didn’t allow herself a smile. That Lucario would still be watching. Not until she reached Rocket Headquarters did she allow herself to take the card out of her hair, the one she had snatched and replaced mid-tumble, and smile at the Commissioner’s cold, stony visage.


	58. Chapter 58

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Hello everyone, Bard here. I tricked myself into writing this two weeks ahead of my schedule, and getting those chapter edits done to boot. I doubt I'll get back to that chapter a week speed I had going any time soon, but this is a promising start. Next stretch goal is another four chapters edited and one written two weeks from now. Alright, that's enough out of me. Enjoy the carnage.

Stabs of pain shot through Admin Colson’s chest as he slunk in the shadows cast by street lights. Celeste had assured him it was just some uncalibrated pain sensors, but each step was a knife between his ribs. Breathing came in gasps that he muffled with one hand. The serrated edges of his fingernails dug into his cheek, but no blood welled up from the cuts.

His other hand was in his pocket, cradling the Commissioner’s keycard and an envelope.

A light fog tumbled over empty city streets and made the shadows dance. Dressed in dark gray, Colson danced with them, flowing through the fog, but the twinges of pain made his dance a stilted shuffling of feet, and the fog tumbled him about like a boulder. 

The Sages’ Tower was a squat, stony building with no windows, fronted by a set of thick steel doors. Cameras squatted in the stonework like gargoyles, watching the street below. One by one, Colson erased his presence from them all, and the ones inside. More nooks, with perches inside spacious alcoves, stood empty. A gust of wind blew down a handful of dun, fluffy feathers.

He gritted his teeth, patted the guns concealed at his hips, and walked up to the entrance of the sleek, blank-walled building. He touched the card to the lock, and the doors clicked open.

Inside, two guards leaned against a wall to his right, near the door, and a third sat behind a metal-plated desk and bulletproof glass. The spacious, empty room, with its still fountains, empty rafters, and abandoned kennels, made Colson feel alone in the room. Each step on the gray marble floor bounced off the walls, ringing like funeral bells. Chandeliers cast flickering shadows in a hundred pale imitations behind marble statues of dead Sages.

“Identify yourself,” the guard nearest to him called out. His hand was on the pistol at his waist. Colson ignored him and walked up to the counter.

“Uh, excuse me sir?” the guard said from his seat. “You’ll have to check in with the guards by the door first. Bags darkened his eye sockets, and beads of sweat dotted his brow. His gray cap was askew, exposing a damp clump of black hair.

Admin Colson ripped the glass aside with one sweep of his serrated fingernails. Showers of shards clattered onto the floor. He leapt over the desk, landed on top of the guard’s lap, and drove the chair downward. He grabbed the man by the face with one hand and smashed his skull into the marble floor. Foaming brain matter gushed between his fingers. The guard shuddered once and fell still. Blood pouring from his neck filled the room with the harsh tang of iron.

Both guards by the door opened fire. Crouching behind the desk, Colson heard bullets smash against the plated armor in front of the desk and ricochet off of the marble walls. A fine spray of sharp stone pieces glanced off his metallic skin. One guard shouted into his radio, but no response came from the other end.

Colson drew his pistols and stood. Each was a high-caliber handgun with a silencer. One bullet slammed into his right shoulder, sending a searing fountain of pain up his neck, but two shots from his left hand caught each guard in the throat. Despite the silencers, each shot rang like boulders crashing into a lake. They fell, gurgling, clutching at the bleeding holes until the strength left their hands.

Colson put his guns away. The bullet in his left shoulder, crushed flat as a wad of chewing gum, peeled off and hit the floor with a soft chink. Colson brushed at the broken fibers of his gray shirt and ran the dull, smooth fingertips of his left hand over his unblemished skin.

Behind the desk stood another metal door, thicker than the one outside and set in a foot of concrete. Out of curiosity, Colson reached out to the door’s lock and found nothing. No gentle sloshing of electron current, no warm, inviting rivers of copper, no transistors like diving boards over pools of doped silicone. When he inserted the Commissioner’s keycard into the slot, hundreds of tiny pins shot out of the edge, pressing into the lock’s delicate tumblers. With a gentle twist of the lock, six deadbolts retracted with a hollow thunk and the door swung open.

The door opened into a small, bare room lit by a single chandelier. Elevator doors rested in the far wall. Four more guards waited next to the elevator. They reached for their weapons as Colson rushed forward. He slashed the throat of one guard with his right hand and punched another hard enough to penetrate his ribcage and crush his heart. The remaining guards fired at his back. Each bullet was a hammer’s blow, fiery hot and icy cold at once, but his skin didn’t bruise. 

Charging into the gunfire, Colson kicked at one guard’s shin, shattering the bone. The gun fell from the crippled man’s hands, and his screams bounced off the walls. The remaining guard dropped his gun and fumbled for his radio. Colson’s fist drove into the guard’s gut, driving the air out of him in a high-pitched croak.

The Commissioner’s keycard opened the elevator and whisked him down to the lowest level. Nets of subterranean wires rushed past him, threatening to ensnare him before they vanished. Colson fell to one knee, gasping, massaging his battered back. Coolant coursed through his head as an electronic fever overwhelmed him, blotting out the gleaming gray walls and whirring of elevator cables. Panting, he ordered his systems to run a diagnostics check and reroute coolant to his overheating processors. It left his limbs painfully hot, but his senses returned and the pain faded from his back.

The lurching elevator brought him to his feet. The doors slid open. An empty hallway greeted him. Alcoves stood like silent, blind sentinels on either side, alcoves large enough for hulking brutes and small enough for lithe, springy killers. Some had perches, some gurgling pools of water, or electrodes, heating units, patches of sand, pots of soil. All were empty.

The hallway opened onto a circular room with doors along its circumference. At a table in the middle, six guards played cards, using bullets and clips for their wager. Light snacks and bottles of water sat at the elbows of each man. One saw him coming down the hall and shouted. Two scrambled for clips on the table, three pulled out guns, and the last dashed for the farthest door.

Admin Colson shot the runner. The first bullet took him through the calf, and the second went through his temple. Two more bullets took out another two guards before the remaining three flipped the table over and ducked behind it. Colson walked towards them, bullets ricocheting off of his skin, grimacing as scalding irons dug into his pain receptors and pumped molten lead up his spine.

He kicked the table, knocking over the guards behind it. A stomp crushed the ribcage of one man, and his serrated fingernails dug through the eyes of another.

As he approached the final guard, the man raised a pistol and fired a shot. The bullet tore through his right eye, scraping against the steel casing that housed his core processors. Coolant hissed and gurgled out of the wound. His other eye blacked out as pain swallowed his senses. Groping, Colson found the man’s neck with his left hand and squeezed. Both men drowned in open, oxygen-rich air, one smothered by a synthetic hand, the other smothered by his synthetic senses. Colson gasped, venting steam through his mouth. In his head, machines stitched together the broken piping and sealed it with lead solder. 

When his sight returned, the guard was dead. His shattered neck flopped to one side. Colson’s legs trembled as he stood. His hand found the overturned table. Sagging over it, Colson surveyed the room and found the bottles strewn on the floor. Most still had a mouthful of water. Colson crawled across the floor, gulping greedily from each bottle. Each sip dulled the ache in his head as his system pumped the fresh coolant to his overheating processors.

Colson turned towards the farthest door. It was solid steel and fortified with magnetic shields. The room felt like a jagged metal shell to his electric perception.

He knocked twice on the door, hard enough to leave dents. When no one answered, he kicked the door down. It took six blows before the metal parted enough for him to shove his way through. His arms screamed with the metal door, and his sight blurred, but he forced his way inside.

The Six Sages sat, stunned, pale-faced. Each of them wore robes of white, and though they all had different hair colors and styles, distinct eyes and noses, individual patterns of wrinkles, all six looked like copies of each other, stripped of their individuality until nothing remained but the Sage.

They made no move towards the exit as Colson took the empty chair. He set both his guns on the table with the barrels pointing towards them.

“You were fools to let your guard down,” the Admin told them.

The Sages stared at one another. After a moment, Rood said from across the table, “We had an alliance.”

“We had a common enemy, nothing more.” Colson took the envelope out of his pocket and tossed it at them. “These are Giovanni’s terms.”

One by one, the Sages read the contract inside the envelope, and one by one, each signed at the bottom.

The last Sage, Gorm, handed him the contract and said, “The people will never accept this. A criminal running the government? How hilarious.”

“They will accept it,” Colson said. “They have no other choice, just like you.”

Zinzolin nodded. “I will inform the press. Giovanni will have his conference at 8 AM, televised across all channels.”

Colson nodded and stepped outside of the room. When he reestablished connection with Rocket headquarters, he said, “Mission successful. Send in the clean-up crew and a backup unit. I’ll need repairs immediately.”

He touched at the gaping wound where his right eye once was. Shattered lens lined the socket, and further inside, the cracked shutter twitched like a bird that had slammed into a window, sending static signals down the severed fiber optic cable.

With a pop, something tore inside of his chest. Red warning alerts flashed in his head as the floor rushed up towards him. Then everything went black.

He was cold by the time Celeste arrived with the backup crew. A few replacement parts later, Admin Colson reactivated, stared up at the ceiling, and said, “I am ready for my next mission.”


	59. Chapter 59

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Howdy, Bard here. No chapter edits this time, but I did get a new chapter done at least. Let's just say that getting a Switch hasn't helped my productivity any. Alright, enjoy the story.

“I still don’t think this is a good idea,” Elder Bayron said as he and N waited in a thick, colossal line to enter Merlon Stadium. “It’s too risky.”

N looked back at him. The white robes and blue fur were masked with the face of a balding man. Shaggy gray eyebrows stooped over dull brown eyes. N focused, and the wrinkles were etched deeper into his forehead.

“Giovanni is planning to claim Ghetsis is dead,” N said, “And use that to justify his taking over.” The words moved past his illusory lips without moving them. The air around him and the Elder ate up sound. “If I expose him as a liar, we can turn the crowd against him and force him back underground.”

“But we gain nothing by it,” the Elder said. “In fact, he might pull his support from… from killing Bruno. That comes before all else.”

N shook his head. “He won’t leave. His own life’s also on the line. And if he stays in power after all this is over, he’ll turn on us next, and if we’re successful, the people will thank him for it. We have to deal with him while his control over everyone is weakest.”

Bayron grimaced behind the mask. “We don’t know that for certain.”

“If you want to leave, I’ll make sure you get out unseen. I mean to stay.”

The Elder stayed in line.

Uneasy muttering rumbled around them. Beneath the mask, Bayron twitched as the turbulent emotions battered him like frothing waves. In a low whisper, N added, “If you have to leave, let me know. I’ll go with you.”

“No need,” Bayron said through gritted teeth, “I can handle this.”

As they walked, the computer over his right eye analyzed faces in the crowd, picked up stray wisps of conversations, picked them apart and compiled them into statistical reports, summing up the mood of the writhing, hissing snake burrowing into the stadium with a series of pie charts, bar graphs, and linear trendlines. It noticed a few quiet outliers, Rocket agents mingling with the crowd, and frisked them for guns and knives. Security cameras and sniper posts were outlined in a dull orange glow.

It had warned him not to go. It had told him it was a trap. N half believed it. Even now, it was feeding him data about the accuracy of the sniper rifles and all the ground they covered. Sniper lines were fanned out into overlapping green triangles that covered his field of view in static grass. But the thing was too alive. It predicted his thoughts and acted on them with uncanny autonomy. He thought that, having Ghetsis’ face, it would tell him everything, and yet, it felt as though the computer held back, ran its own internal calculations with variables N couldn’t guess.

If it didn’t want him here for a reason, he had to know why.

As they approached the wide stadium doors, they saw five dozen thumbprint scanners set up in front, with two guards posted to each. People pressed their thumbs and waited for the beep before passing through. N reached out, tried to tamper with the data, but the lead casing on the unit thwarted him. He and Ghetsis’ eyepiece scanned the stadium for other ways in, for openings between the packed crowd, and both saw no way to slip through unseen. The AI urged him to turn back, but instead, N pinched off a piece of himself, shaped it between his fingers, and passed it to the Elder.

“Put this on,” he said. “I can’t fool the scanners with my power, and there isn’t room to get through invisible, but this should work.”

“And if it doesn’t?”

N looked up at the snipers and cameras. “We’ll have to run for it.”

Despite the mask, N could tell that Bayron grimaced. “Are you sure about this?”

“I memorized the thumbprints of a few people. To the scanners, that’s who we’ll be.”

“No, I mean, are you sure about going in? They might lock the doors behind us.”

They were fast approaching the scanners. N molded his finger into shape, stepped up to one of the scanners, and pressed his finger to its cold, glassy surface. The thing shuddered, gave a beep, and the turnstile permitted him forward. Right behind him, Elder Bayron pressed the thin sheath of pink goop to the scanner and passed through. He nursed his paw as he walked alongside N.

“Something pricked me,” he said. “It was hard to tell with the vibrations, but I think it was a needle.”

The computer thought a moment, and then it told him it was a blood test, showed him the cameras perched over each turnstile, and plotted an exit route.

As they walked down the stadium aisle, towards a column of empty seats, N whispered to the Elder, “They took a blood sample. We have a few minutes before they can get a test done.”

Bayron stiffened. “Are we leaving?”

“Not yet. We can throw them off the trail.” He thought for a moment. As they sat down, he looked around for more available seating and saw seats being filled on the opposite end of the stadium.

“I’ll leave images of us here,” N said. “We’ll make our way to the other side while invisible. I won’t be able to see, so you’ll have to guide me.” He looked over at the bustling crowd behind them. “Make sure we don’t bump into anything. If I can’t see, I can’t make corrections.”

The Elder nodded. “Should we leave now?”

“Give it a minute.” He scanned the area for a restroom and found one up and ahead of them, in an alcove next to an abandoned concessions stall. A column of half-filled seats was below it, with a thin trickle of people filling it. N flicked his power across the stadium. The door appeared to swing wide, and a portly couple in shorts and t-shirt waddled out. They took the nearest available seats, on the edge of a row.

“There’s a fat man with a straw hat and red t-shirt, top row, across the stadium, and a fat woman in a pink shirt next to him. See them?”

Bayron squinted. “I don’t see anything.”

N swore to himself. “Right, you can’t see the illusion. Top row, Section G, the two seats on the right from our perspective. Get us over there.”

“Now?”

N closed his eyes. When he opened them again, darkness swallowed him whole. “Now.”

The Elder pulled him from his seat. His grip was tight enough to squeeze his wrist into pink mush gushing between his paw. N stumbled after him, half afraid his hand would break off and he’d be stranded in the dark. With his other hand, he found the Elder’s shoulder and clung as tight as his goopy hands allowed.

As they ducked and bobbed through the crowd, N felt a prickle in the back of his mind. With three illusions sustained at once, over great distances, he felt the power draining out of him. It drained too fast. Bubbles burst in his mind, filling the darkness with explosions of gray and purple. Nettles brushed his skull, and his stomach churned and frothed with boiling bile.

“I can’t hold on much longer,” N gasped.

“Just a minute more. Hold on.”

N counted the steps, one, two, three, each slower than the last as the Elder wove through the crowd. His heart skipped a beat when his arm brushed against a chair. Noises swarmed all around him, whispers sharp and delicate as paring knives, clothing rustling on chairs like buzzing hornets, swigs taken from water bottles that crashed down on him like waterfalls. Stabs of pain raced down his limbs. Each step became heavier than the last. 

Just as he felt ready to black out, Bayron said, “We’re here.”

He let go of the invisibility. Power gushed back into him, enough to splash his feet in, and light stabbed his eyes. Breathing heavily, he made the other illusion across from them stand up, walk over to the nearest restroom, and vanish. He slumped back in his chair, drooping until he was an amorphous puddle with a muzzled face.

Elder Bayron looked down at him with concern that didn’t touch his fleshy face. “You don’t look well.”

“It’s fine,” N said in a hoarse whisper. “That took more out of me than I thought. I’ll be fine now.”

As eight o clock approached, N sat back up, his features restored. He glanced over at the Elder, but the Lucario had eyes only for the empty stage below.

At the appointed hour, twelve Grunts walked onto the stage. The Six Sages followed, behind them came two Admins, and at last, Giovanni. He stood behind a podium, with a microphone and a camera in front of him. The screens all around the stadium lit up, and Giovanni’s cold, blue eyes gazed down at the crowd.

“Well?” N asked.

“I can see him on the screens, but not on the stage.”

“An illusion. Seven’s there?”

“Yes, on the left.”

Giovanni spoke. Each word coming over the speakers was as smooth and as sharp as rubbing alcohol, at once harsh and comforting. He told the onlookers about the present war between man and Pokémon and revealed Team Rocket’s investment into their safety. N’s head swam, and he slumped forward, gasping for air.

Then he told everyone that Ghetsis had been, all this time, a Pokémon, working from within their government to undermine them. Snow clutched his chest and icicles dug into his brain as Giovanni laid out his false evidence, the failed assassination attempts, how he seemed to never age, and his uncanny control over the city’s political affairs. 

“But I don’t intend for you to take my word for it,” Giovanni said. “Ghetsis, or should I say this Pokémon, had dragged my name through the mud and forced me to commit crimes to oppose its wickedness, all so no one would ever believe the truth I had learned. Instead, I will show you.”

Power spilled out of him. His fevered mind beat Ghetsis’ AI to the reason by a few seconds. The pill. Power suppression. The thumbprint reader. The hidden needle. 

“It is here, in this stadium, using an illusion to hide among you. What more, it brought one of the same Pokémon that caused the madness in all the others. No doubt, it was planning to turn you all against me with some trick of the mind.”

He tried to speak, but his lips were too numb to form anything other than a gurgle. Detail after detail melted off of his illusions. Elder Bayron, missing an eyebrow and the hat, stared at the misshapen lump in the chair with horror. The eyepiece sent warning signals at him, but his tears turned them into a blood-red smear.

“That is why,” Giovanni said, “As you placed your thumb on the scanner, you were pricked with a tiny needle. It injected a chemical compound known as dimethyl tetraethyl butylcholine esterase, or DTBE. It is a neural inhibitor that, in small doses, is harmless to humans, but for certain Pokémon, it disables their abilities. As for the Lucario, we have learned that large crowds interfere with their ability to think. In short, we have made the perfect trap to capture our foe.”

Ghetsis’ AI sent him one last message, in big, blocky red letters. Use the stone. With a fumbling, disfigured hand, N reached into the pocket of his coat, pulled out the bundled sphere, and set it in the Elder’s lap. With the last of his strength, he whispered, “Get us out of here,” before he blacked out.


	60. Chapter 60

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: hello everyone, still working on chapter edits. All I've done this time around was fix a tiny error in the last chapter.

“Has anyone spotted him yet?” Seven said to Admin Fisher over the din of the disquieted crowd. The teeming masses before her made her feel uneasy and claustrophobic, as though they were all gazing at her through the blue haze of plasma. She shook off the feeling with a wry chuckle. She wasn’t in a cage anymore. No need to panic. The earpiece in her ear, custom-fitted by Giovanni’s scientists, gave off a subtle hiss of static.

“Not yet,” Fisher grunted back. “No way to tell what’s what, even with all the cameras. I did get word about a minute ago that the test came back positive, so it’s in here somewhere.

Seven scanned the crowd, wondering where she would hide if in N’s place. Somewhere to the rear, near a small exit or a bathroom with ventilation shafts, would be her choice, but the countless bodies blurred into a cacophonous smear. Singling any out proved impossible.

“The speech is about to begin,” Fisher said. “Don’t screw up the lip syncing.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Seven caught a flicker, the faintest hint of wrongness somewhere in the upper reaches of the stadium. Her eyes tracked a flash of pink, but she lost it in the throngs.

“You’re on in five.”

Seven’s gaze darted back to Giovanni’s image standing in front of them. A green light flashed on the podium, and Giovanni’s voice whispered in her ear through the earpiece. As the words floated through her mind, she projected them through the image. When she had asked why they couldn’t have the speech prepared ahead of time, Giovanni replied that people trust not in carefully laid plans, well-executed reason, or in structure, but in their gut instincts, and nothing speaks louder and truer to that instinctive search for inherent truth than impromptu speech, with all its imperfections.

Despite that, his words carried no hint of pause or stammering she could detect. Each word felt as though it were chiseled of stone, polished smooth and angular with sandpaper, and stacked into geometric piles with precise dimensions. He examined one concern after another with swift, rigorous rhetoric, laid out his plans to address them, and summarized the cost of his projects. As he built his mountain of words, the crowd fell to a hush and sat at the edge of their seats. Gasps and mutters rippled through the crowd as he laid his evidence for Ghetsis’ false identity, brick by brick, calling up images and news clippings on a projector.

When he announced N’s presence, uneasiness rushed through the crowd like flames dancing over a lake of gasoline. Some rose from their seats and pressed towards the doors, but Rocket Grunts toting metallic riot gear blocked the exits. Even from the bottom of the stadium, Seven could tell it was the same metal used in her – in Bruno’s cell.

A flash of blue light cut across the stadium. Arms rose up to block the harsh glare. From it emerged a towering figure awash in blue flames. Spikes jutted from its arms and chest, and its eyes burned like dying stars.

Giovanni swore in her ear. It was the first time she had ever heard any semblance of shock in his voice. Then he said, “Have everyone withdraw. We can’t risk a fight here and now.”

Seven relayed the order to Fisher. The Admin shouted a few words into his radio, and the Grunts at the entrance slid aside, letting a stampede thunder out into the streets.

The Mega Lucario glanced at the exits, then up at the snipers perched from the rafters and nearby buildings, and last at the podium below, at Seven. With a roar, it raced down the concrete steps and landed with an earth-shaking thud a dozen feet in front of her. She drew a dart gun and fired, but the handle slipped in her long, slender fingers. The dart flew wide, landing point-first in the grassy turf.

The Lucario sprang forward. Seven was knocked aside. Fisher blocked the blow meant for Seven’s head with a riot shield. In his right hand was a metal baton. It shot forward and clocked the Lucario in the shoulder. Fisher dropped the baton and fired two darts. They struck it in the chest. It wrenched them free and flung them on the ground.

From the ground, Seven saw Giovanni standing there, observing the battle with an impassive expression. Then she remembered it was only an illusion. With a flash of panic matching her own, the image backed away and sprinted after the Sages. Two ranks of Grunts formed a line of shields behind him, brandishing batons at the Lucario.

Giovanni’s voice rasped in Seven’s ear. “Find N, and make sure it does not escape.”

Four Grunts ran forward, coming at the Lucario from all sides. It whirled, flinging blue light from its paws. The aura glanced off the shields, but it swept the men off their feet. It sprang forward. A paw slammed down, and a man’s chest caved in with the hollow crunch of shattered ribs.

Seven scrambled to her feet and tapped Fisher on the shoulder. He whirled, his baton hurtling towards her head. It stopped half a short of caving her skull in.

“Where is N?”

Fisher spoke into his radio. “Section J, near the top. He’s been incapacitated.”

“Cover me.” As she sprinted for the seats, the Grunts formed a wall of shields behind her. The Lucario sent out another wave of aura, but the shields held it back. Darts rained down from the rafters. They stuck out at odd angles from the Lucario’s head and shoulders. It slumped forward, panting as the tranquilizer coursed through its veins.

It glanced up and saw Seven approaching N. With a howl, it leapt on top of the shields and bounded towards her. Seven leapt over the seats, looking for N. She stepped in a sticky puddle, looked down, and saw the eyepiece. Harsh red light emanated from the glass lens. For a second, she was in the dark room, with scalpels and needles suspended above her, reddened either from its light or her blood.

A flash of blue whirled in front of her. A glowing pulse slammed into her chest. She tumbled down a flight of concrete stairs. She tucked her head into her arms. Her fur padded her fall, but scrapes drew blood from her knees and elbows. She stopped halfway down.

Seven looked up at Section J. The Lucario was gone. One Grunt scooped pink goo into a vial, and another sifted through handfuls of the viscous gunk on the seats.

“No sign of it sir,” the Grunt reported.

Seven looked behind her. Admin Fisher had her in one of his arms. Muscles like steel cables bulged beneath his uniform. For a panicked moment, Seven imagined those arms gripping her tighter, snapping her spine in two. She shook the fantasy from her head.

“Where did they go?” she asked.

“Bayron leapt out of the stadium,” Fisher said. “Did you see Ghetsis’ eyepiece?”

She shivered. “Yes,” she said in a breathless whisper.

Fisher nodded and spoke into the radio. He received a reply, and said, “Giovanni is waiting.”

He helped her onto her feet. Armored vans were parked at the rear of the stadium. Squads of Grunts filed into the back, but Seven and Fisher got their own car. Fisher drove them to the Sages’ tower. Two Grunts let them pass into the inner halls, and another opened the doors to the Sages’ meeting room.

Giovanni sat in Ghetsis’ seat, with his hands folded in front of him. Celeste and Colson took chairs on the far side of the room.

Seven sat nearest Giovanni. The scent of sanitizer wafting around Giovanni was tinged with the faintest hint of sweat, and the muscles in his jaw trembled.

“I will admit this was my mistake,” Giovanni said. “I hadn’t expected either of them to be willing to use the Mega Stone in a crowded area, and before the battle tomorrow no less.”

“There is a chance that the Elder will live through the battle,” Celeste said. “However, symptoms may appear within a few hours. They may decide against using the Mega Stone.”

“Even if they knew the Stone was poisoned, they would still use it.” Giovanni gave a small grin, but the tension in his face remained. “The beauty of an absolute evil is that any means can be justified to eliminate it, and all groups, no matter how opposed in their views, will come together to oppose it. It is the evil that can be bargained with that lives the longest.”

Celeste tapped her fingers on the table. “You mean yourself? Or Ghetsis?”

Giovanni’s smile vanished. “Both, I suppose.” He turned towards Seven. “You are certain you saw the eyepiece?”

Seven swallowed and nodded.

“There was no way for N to make an illusion?”

“None,” Seven said. “N was just a puddle. The eyepiece was floating in it. It –” She stopped mid-breath, gripped by the memory of the lens staring at her.

Giovanni closed his eyes and rubbed his hands together. The sharp tang of isopropanol receded. “It’s time I told you all my suspicions. I haven’t thus far because I lack proof, and I had thought the problem done with until N came here.”

Admin Colson cleared his throat. “You suspect that Ghetsis is an AI, do you not?”

Seven felt her blood freeze.

Giovanni nodded. “That eyepiece serves as an interface between the program and his brain. It was backed up by a remote server room in Harmonia Labs.”

“The server room I destroyed, right boss?” Fisher asked.

“The same.” Giovanni took a bottle out of his coat pocket and slathered sanitizer onto his hands. As he worked it into his skin, he said, “There are only a few computers left with enough processing power to handle a program as complicated as an AI. Of those, there’s the computers in the Sages’ tower, our own servers, computers at the university, and Colson’s CPU.”

Seven’s mouth, hidden behind her mask, worked silently for a moment before she asked, “Couldn’t he have copied himself onto those computers?”

Giovanni shook his head. “He could have, but doing so would have put him at risk. Other programs operating on that hardware could corrupt his data. Only Colson’s system serves as an optimal host for his program, which is why he will have to remain behind for tomorrow’s battle.

Fisher grunted and leaned back in his chair. “Well, there goes our ace in the hole. Any plans?”

Giovanni smiled, but his eyes flicked across the room. “We will be using Mewtwo.”

Celeste stiffened at the announcement. Seven thought for a moment, and remembered the creature floating in the tank.

“You mean-” she began, but Giovanni cut her off.

“I’ve had a long discussion with it,” he said, looking at Celeste. “We have nothing to fear from it.”

Celeste nodded, but she remained at the edge of her seat.

“Now, get your men ready. Tomorrow, this war will end, one way or another.”

*******

By the time N felt any sensation in his body, they were already back at the underground hideout. Elder Bayron had reverted to his normal form. He lay shivering on the floor, squeezing his head between his paws and muttering under his breath. Cell by cell, the tiny mass the Elder had cradled in his arm rebuilt itself, until N stood upright before half a dozen Lucario. Two brought Bayron to his feet and helped him out of the room, while another approached N.

“What do we do now?” she asked. “Are we still going to work with them?”

N grimaced. “We don’t have a choice. Get everything ready, and make sure he gets some rest.”

The Lucario nodded and left. N grabbed the computer over his left eye and wrenched it free of his flesh. The lens stared up at him, focusing and refocusing. It had clawed its way through him, to the mass Bayron had scooped off of the seats, with thin tendrils tucked away in its core. For a moment, he considered smashing the computer to pieces. But he still needed the Sages’ nukes.

With a frown, he stuck it back onto his face and watched the scrawling red text lay out battle plans.


	61. Chapter 61

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Hello everyone, sorry this came out a week late. 4th of July really screwed up that whole week. Anyways, I at least managed to get this up, and I intend to have another chapter ready next weekend. With the pace of the story picking up, I'm hoping that'll get my writing pace up as well. Even if it doesn't, I'll have time enough to get stuff done.
> 
> So, first thing, remember that Reuniclus from six or seven chapters ago that's just there because reasons? I just realized I had a perfectly good psychic-type in Preston just sitting around doing nothing. Well... time to put him back in the story! I'll go back and edit that later, but for now, I ask that you bear with the shift. I'll edit this once it's done. Speaking of, one more chapter brought up to date. Only what, fifty-five to go? *sigh* 
> 
> The mind commands the body, and it obeys. The mind commands itself, and meets resistance. Frank Herbert really knew what he was talking about.

Bruno sensed two packs crossing the river, one off to the north, and another south. The hordes loitered on the west bank, waiting for orders to proceed. Any further, and it’s likely the other Lucario would discover them. Once they were distracted, the jaws of his trap would close around them.

He swung his gaze through the castle hall. Though the roof hadn’t been fully shingled and most of the windows were missing glass, the walls and domed roof loomed over him. He felt his strength woven into the mortar. It pulsed with each beat of his heart, emanating his power over the land. Now he didn’t need to send out recruiters. Pokémon, drawn to the light like moths, flocked from every corner of the land untouched by humans.

Preston stood three steps below him. He stared at the open doors, out to the encampment of Pokémon huddled around fires.

“It is time,” he said.

Bruno stared out an empty window near the ceiling. The sun’s edge rimmed the edge of the blunt, rough masonry.

“Give it another hour,” Bruno said. “Waiting in the city would be dangerous.”

“Being caught en route would be more dangerous,” Preston replied. “It will also take time to bring the plates.”

Thirty metal plates, each twenty feet long and a foot thick, circled the camp. Much of the metal his Pokémon had gathered went into the scaffolding supporting the stone walls from the inside, forging rudimentary arms and armor for his Pokémon, and crafting his throne. The rest was melted down and cast in rock-lined holes to make a mobile fortress. Grooves and pits ran along the length of each wall. Streaks of copper, silver, and brass wove through the metal like strokes of paint. They were ill-made, but tough enough to stop bullets.

“Then have the plates sent out. The rest will follow after.”

Preston nodded and relayed the order. The scrape of metal on stone heralded the departure of the plates. It took two dozen to lift each one, but far more remained by the fires, eating hot berry mash and roasted fish.

“Have the armories sent too. They can arm themselves when they get there.”

Clanking metal echoed through the hall. Outside, Pokémon heaved wooden crates onto their backs and marched after the plates.

As Bruno studied the march, the purple glow drew his gaze westward, toward the city. The second sun burning in the afternoon sky filled him with a sudden chill dread. He would have to get much, much closer to that alluring flame. Leaving wasn’t an option, he reminded himself. Without him, his forces would be crushed by the Lucario. But could he stand to be any closer? Would she be there, on the battlefield? Could he kill her?

Preston climbed the stairs. The aura within him receded, until it was but an oil slick on the pool of his mind, holding him without touching him.

“It isn’t too late to stop this,” he said. “Arrange a peace treaty and move all the Pokémon far to the south. You can build your kingdom there, without the bloodshed.”

Bruno set a paw on Preston. The Alakazam twitched and sank to its knees, overwhelmed by the aura pouring into him. When he stood again, his eyes were glazed over and unfocused.

“I will see to the remaining preparations, my lord.”

Even then, he sensed that untouchable pool within him. Once it settled and pushed the aura from itself, he would have to repeat the process. Bruno didn’t understand how or why he resisted. It had started after the loss of the Claydol, a remark about the number of casualties here, possible locations for a more secluded citadel there. He had almost considered it until he had noticed his weakened grip on the Alakazam’s aura. Since then, keeping Preston controlled was like holding a greased balloon underwater.

“Were it not for your strength and insight,” Bruno growled, “I would have you killed.”

Preston inclined his head. “Forgive me, I will try to do better.”

Bruno leaned back in his chair and stared out a west window, squinting in vain effort to shut out the distant violet glow. “What is the situation in the city?”

Preston closed his eyes. The hairs on his head waved in unfelt breezes, and wisps of stinging jade, emanations of his psychic power, wafted from his soul.

“Mass evacuation of the city is nearly complete,” he said. “They’re loading civilians into vans and boats, sending them all to a nearby town. The rest are hiding underground.”

Bruno waved the information away. “What about the Rockets and the Lucario?”

Preston frowned. “I can’t tell. There is a powerful psychic presence in the area.”

“How powerful?”

“Powerful enough to tear me to pieces from the city,” Preston said. He opened his eyes and slumped to his knees. “I never felt anything like it before.”

Bruno tensed, and the bones of his throne creaked beneath his grip. “Why haven’t you said anything about this until now?”

“It hasn’t been there until now.” Preston took sharp, shallow breaths and pushed himself to his feet. “You can’t challenge it. You have a hard enough time keeping me in line, how do you hope to-”

Preston howled and clutched at its head. Bruno stood over him and doubled the pressure. The Alakazam writhed on the floor, gasping for air and soaking his fur with his tears.

“You have only felt a fraction of my power,” Bruno said. “It would be far too easy for me to destroy you.”

Behind the cold steel in his voice, doubt roiled in his gut. He felt it now, a green haze smothering the purple glow. While it was a relief to have that old temptation alleviated, the anxiety that replaced it left a bone-deep chill that the bonds of aura shared with all his underlings.

Preston regained his footing and propped himself up with psychic power. He looked into Bruno’s eyes and said, “It’s still not too late to leave this madness behind.”

Bruno took a deep breath, drowned his anxiety, and smacked Preston across the face.

“Even if I run, they will hunt me down. I will fight them, and I will win.”

*******

Giovanni kept one finger over the button of a remote on his hand. Across the desk, in his office, his creation flexed its bulbous fingers and felt at the collar around its neck.

“I can sever the connection, you know,” Mewtwo said.

“The metal alloy resists psychic manipulation,” Giovanni countered. “Go ahead and try.”

“The device works by transmitting radio waves. I could and already am blocking those signals.” It smiled and said, “Go ahead and try.”

Anger bubbled up inside of him, but Giovanni kept his face a cold mask. “Seven could fix that.”

“I suppose she could,” Mewtwo said. It sat down and picked a berry out of the platter on Giovanni’s desk. Juice dribbled down its chin and onto the floor as it ate. “I have no intention of betraying you. All I want is to be left alone.”

“You will have that, after you help me deal with the current situation.”

“You intend to have me killed.” Mewtwo wiped its chin. “I know you. You dispose of tools that no longer serve you, that they may not be used against you. You would have destroyed me already, were I not a valuable specimen to study.”

Giovanni transferred the remote to his left hand and pumped sanitizer into his right. He struggled to rub it into his hands around the remote.

“What do you really want?” he asked. “Don’t think I’m foolish enough to believe you’ll just leave once it’s all over. Not after what happened.”

“You would have done the same were you in my situation.”

Giovanni shrugged. “You may have noticed that I’m not exactly a pillar of morality.”

Mewtwo chuckled. “True. Then let’s say a saint would have done as I did. I was created, stuffed into a restraining suit, pumped full of painful fluids, carved up, examined…” Mewtwo grimaced. It reached for another berry, but it slipped out of Mewtwo’s juice-slick fingers.

“You never stopped trying to escape.”

“I didn’t stop wanting to,” it admitted, “But I didn’t dare try anything with Ghetsis around.” Mewtwo picked up another berry and crushed it in its hand. Pulp and juice spurted out from between its fingers. “You did kill him, correct?”

Giovanni took a deep breath. “That depends on your definition of dead.”

Mewtwo slammed the table. Berries bounced off of the platter and rolled onto the floor. A thin crack ran through the wood.

“Answer the question,” it hissed.

Giovanni flinched and pressed the button. Nothing happened. The muscles in his face twitched, itching to change his expression, but his stony mask remained unbroken.

“In body, he is dead, and has been for decades. In mind, he lives through an AI. Its main computer was harbored in a server room beneath Harmonia Labs, which I had destroyed, but one copy remains within his eyepiece. That eyepiece is currently in the hands of N, who is masquerading as Ghetsis.”

“You must destroy it before it can copy itself!”

“I’ve taken precautions against that.” Giovanni leaned back in his chair, but the muscles in his back remained tense. “There are only a handful of computers in the world capable of operating a program as sophisticated as his AI, and until all of this is over, I have them shut down, disconnected, and disassembled. He has nowhere to run.”

Mewtwo studied the desk. It ran a hand over the crack, and it fused back together. “Fine, but destroying that eyepiece comes first.”

“It cannot. Bruno is the bigger threat, and until he is dealt with, I cannot move against N and the other Lucario.” Giovanni forced a slight upward curl of his lips. “Rest assured that I have no intention of leaving a trace of Ghetsis.”

“On that we can agree.” Mewtwo tilted its head up and stared at a point beyond the ceiling. “There is a psychic presence over the city. It’s scanning the area, but it isn’t coming any closer. It knows I am here.”

“Can you destroy the source?”

Mewtwo squinted. “Perhaps, but it left. Reaching it would take a lot of effort.” It shook its head. “It may be a trap. If I reach out that far, my power could be severed. It would mean I’d be useless for the battle.”

“Don’t risk it. Whatever it is, it couldn’t possibly be more powerful than you.”

“Are you praising me or yourself?”

Giovanni set the remote on his desk. “The button on the left removes the collar,” he said. “If it doesn’t work, you may as well have it off.”

Without taking its eyes off of him, Mewtwo reached for the remote. Its finger hovered over the button on the left. Juice dripped from its finger.

The collar clicked and fell apart.

“I know better than to trust you after this,” it said.

“Don’t get the wrong idea. I just didn’t want it distracting you during the battle.” He glanced down at the tablet and squeezed more sanitizer onto his hands. “Get going. Their main force is on the move.”

Mewtwo went to the door, opened it, and paused under the frame.

“I told you what I want, but I still don’t know what you want.”

“You haven’t read my mind?”

“I’d rather not.”

Giovanni looked down at his hands. They glistened from the alcohol evaporating on his skin.

“I want what Ghetsis had. Control.”


	62. Chapter 62

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I was a week later than I had hoped, but in my defense, I had a rather interesting couple days that weekend, involving carrot cupcakes and an oil fire. Hadn't gotten any chapter edits done either, but that's still on my backburner. I haven't forgotten about patching in Preston. With that said, feel free to comment and review, and you'll have my undying thanks and respect for the five minutes it takes me to type up a response :P

Preparations for battle began in the abandoned eastern cityscape. Rocket Grunts and police officers, all armed and dressed in Rocket attire, checked weapons and oiled artillery. Excavators scooped out pavement and pipelines to form jagged trenches. Medics sanitized their medical kits and sorted blood bags. Cooks doled out bowls of scrambled eggs and oatmeal, commanders briefed their soldiers, and men made one last call to their families.

One office building weathered abandonment well enough to become a temporary headquarters. Its windows were small, paned with thick glass, and its walls were steel and concrete. A conference room on ground level held a long plastic table and a dozen dusty padded chairs. The Sages, the Rockets, and Team Plasma assembled there for a final review of their battle strategy and agreements. N, without any illusion protecting him, sat at one end of the table with two Lucario.

The eyepiece had gone eerily silent through the early morning. N ran a finger over its smooth steel rim. It had said something about entering power-saving mode, but N wasn’t sure he believed it.

“Do you accept this arrangement?” Giovanni asked.

N looked across the table. Giovanni, flanked by Fisher and Colson, stared at him with an unreadable mask. Without an illusion covering him, each nerve on N’s skin tingled, as though the sunlight burned him. 

N adjusted the eyepiece. “Should I be content with you leaving the most difficult job for us?”

Giovanni’s eyes narrowed. “You’re the only ones with the ability to fight him. That is why we handed over the Mega Stone in the first place.” He glanced around the room and added, “Is there a reason Elder Bayron isn’t present?”

“He is still recovering from yesterday,” N said, “But he is well enough to use the Mega Stone.”

Giovanni’s expression betrayed nothing, but Fisher’s eyes flicked towards his boss. N knew they were planning something, but even the eyepiece couldn’t guess what would happen.

“Why the curiosity?” N asked. “Quite frankly, I’m surprised you can tell the difference.”

The Lucario around him shot him a glare, but Giovanni gave no reaction. “I’d rather not find out that you were waiting to use the Mega Stone against me. I could see that happening, given the… misunderstanding we had yesterday.”

N knew it wasn’t the truth, but he couldn’t find a way to probe further. Instead, he asked, “Why did you try to capture us? You still need us to defeat Bruno.”

Giovanni shrugged. “Just business. I had no intention on harming the Elder. You, on the other hand, serve no purpose here and posed a significant threat by impersonating Ghetsis. I used you to discredit Ghetsis and earn the trust of the public, and had I succeeded in capturing you, treachery from the Lucario would have been less likely.”

Giovanni steered the conversation further away from the secret N was trying to uncover, he knew, and yet, he didn’t know enough to ask a more precise question. He tapped the eyepiece, hoping it would give him something to ask. The Rockets stiffened in their chairs, even Giovanni. The plastic armrest groaned underneath Fisher’s hand.

“Do you know how Ghetsis cheated death?” Giovanni asked.

N nodded. “He escaped that car bombing, and a few other ones, I think.”

Giovanni shook his head. “I meant to say, do you know how he survived all those attempts?”

On one hand, N knew it was another distraction, but on the other hand, he felt there was an important nugget of information hidden in this mud. “I told you about the cloning facility.”

Giovanni took out a portable bottle of hand sanitizer. As he lathered it into his palms, he said, “The clones were only a shell. He–”

The eyepiece flashed to life. “Attack imminent,” it told him. “Tell the Elder.”

N stood. “They’re here.”

Everyone stood. “We can finish this conversation once we have won,” Giovanni said. “Please don’t make the mistake of leaving without hearing what I have to tell you.”

N had considered doing exactly that, but the grave tone of the Rocket Boss’ voice piqued his interest. There was a secret here as well. Perhaps it was to divert his attention from Giovanni’s real plan, but he decided to hear him out.

N was first out the door, followed by the Lucario. They had set up quarters a few blocks down the road, in an old library. When he first saw it, books had slipped off the shelves, and a heavy layer of dust coated every surface. Lights were cracked and several windowpanes were broken. Now, the only evidence of the building’s abandonment were missing light fixtures and empty windows.

Elder Bayron sat in a reclining chair. His eyes were unfocused and glazed over, but they snapped to attention when N entered the room.

“Is it time?” he asked. He sounded stronger, but strain clutched at his voice.

“It’s time. Are you sure no one else can take the Mega Stone?”

The Elder shook his head. “It is more difficult to control than I feared. I’m the only one with enough discipline to stay sane.” A Lucario helped him out of the chair. “I will have to leave as soon as possible or risk insanity.”

“I have transport on standby, enough to get us all out of here. The reserves can escort us out.”

“Do you think we’ll need it?”

N chuckled. “He’s hiding a powerful psychic, and I suspect he intends to kill you. We can’t take any chances.”

Bayron leaned against a shelf and stretched his legs. “It will be dangerous to stay close.”

“I’m the only one that can protect you from a psychic.”

“I suppose you are.” He shoved off the bookcase. Four books tumbled from the shelves, and a Lucario put them back in place. The Elder took two steps forward, trembled, and leaned on another Lucario.

“I’ll just need a minute,” he said. “Head’s still spinning from all that aura.”

N glanced out the door. Shouts rang across the streets as men rushed for the trenches. He looked back and said, “I’ll meet you out there.”

“Wait.” 

N stopped halfway out the door. When he turned back, the Elder strode towards him with one hand trailing along the shelves. He came up to N, leaned towards his ear, and whispered, “If I do go insane, make sure that the psychic kills me. We can’t have another.”

N grimaced. “I understand.”

Two hundred Team Plasma members stood ready in the lobby of a movie theater. They saluted when he entered the room.

“Get moving,” N told them. “The enemy will arrive shortly.”

And he thought to himself, the enemy’s already here.

“Leave fifty ready for our escape. The rest of you, form a defensive perimeter for the Lucario. Keep your throwers topped off, and stock up on grenades.

White-clad men lugged heavy tanks of napalm and hefted boxes of grenades. They moved in double-file, with supplies wedged between them. Once they had squeezed past the ticket counters, only trampled dust and abandoned dirty dishes remained of them.

N peeled the eyepiece off of his face. He plucked bits of goo from its surface and stared at the red-tinted glass. His hand tightened. Metal and glass strained within his grip, but the eyepiece gave no response.

He held it up to his face. “Do you still have control of the nukes?”

No answer.

“Have you run out of power?”

Nothing.

“If you don’t answer me now, I’ll smash you on the ground.”

The device flicked to life, its light on its dimmest setting. In its largest font, it said, “Battle outcome calculated. Battery critical. Will provide support in the moment you need it.”

The light died.

N stared at the device in his hand. Questions flooded his mind, such as “How could it predict the battle’s outcome? What support? Can I really trust this thing?”

Distant gunshots wrenched his gaze away from the device. His hand twitched, and he dropped the eyepiece, but he fumbled after it. As he sprinted down the cracked streets, he affixed the device back over his eye.

A procession of Lucario strode down the street, flanked by men in Rocket uniforms. The men raised their guns as N approached, but with an order from an officer, they stood aside.

“Well?” the Elder asked in a hushed murmur.

“Team Plasma is mobilized. Ghetsis’ monocle says it has a plan, but it won’t tell me anything.”

“You should have destroyed that thing the moment you got it.”

N scratched at the skin around the eyepiece. “I’ve been tempted to, but it’s our trump card. You know that.”

Another shot rang through the streets. N peered ahead, but he saw no signs of battle.

“Haven’t they begun their attack yet?”

The officer, marked by red trim on his shoulders, looked back as he marched. “They’re setting up a small base just within the city limits. We have orders to hold our perimeter until Bruno arrives.”

“It’ll be another half hour, I think,” the Elder added.

N stared through the empty lens. Had it fed him false information? Why? Giovanni was about to say something, about how Ghetsis eluded death…

The commander’s radio crackled. The man stiffened, and he whirled towards the men behind him.

“Battle formations, now! They’re coming from underground!”

“What’s this?” Elder Bayron asked. The Lucario stood with paws extended, glancing underneath them. “I don’t sense anything! Same! How could they be below us? Is a psychic teleporting them in? No, it would take too much power!”

The men bunched around the Lucario in a tight circle, guns raised. The commander pressed his ear to the radio and kept a hand on his pistol.

“It’s mainly Rattata and Pidgey! All normal types! They’re using ghosts to –”

The ground heaved underneath them. With a booming crack, concrete exploded beneath the group. Men screamed as they were crushed by falling chunks. Surrounding themselves with a blue glow, the Lucario held their section of the road steady and moved it away from the quaking ground.

Four gray shapes rose from the heaped rubble. A baleful red eye peered out from each of them. As they emerged into the sunlight, their massive arms, amorphous tails, and gaping maws in their midsections became distinct.

“Dusknoir!” one man shouted. “Fall back! Get the UV lasers!”

The maws opened. Out of them rushed a throng of Rattata, biting and snapping at anything that moved. Concrete and bone cracked between their teeth. The standing men answered with a volley of bullets, tearing through the pack, but more rushed over their fallen comrades. Men fell screaming as the swarm rushed over them.

A blue flash engulfed the street. Rattata were blown back like leaves, hurtling into buildings and trees. Some staggered to their feet, but more lay on the ground, still or writhing with broken limbs. The four Dusknoir stood unwavering as the aura blew through them.

“There’s little we can do to those ghosts,” Elder Bayron said to N. “We’ll need you to attack them.”

N grimaced. “I shouldn’t waste my strength, not with that psychic out there. I don’t know how much I can take.”

From above, a ray of blinding light shone on the street. It passed over a Dusknoir, slicing it in half. Its wounds hissed and gave off sparking black vapor. With a shudder and a low, sonorous moan, the ghost collapsed into shadow. The beam darted left, taking two more Dusknoir, and it grazed the last as it retreated underground.

N looked up. Perched on a high building was a spotlight five feet in diameter. Cables snaked out of the back and wound its way into a window.

The commanding officer, wiping blood off his face, approached N. He had a gash over his left eye and bite marks in his left arm.

“We have lights up, but we can’t cover every area. We’ll have to take a detour to get to the combat zone.”

“Then we better hurry,” Elder Bayron said. “He’s coming.”


	63. Chapter 63

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I know, it took me a while to get this chapter out. It's been a hectic few weeks with a lot of overtime at work. On the bright side, I got some chapter edits done, up to Chapter 10! I'll get those up in a bit.

Seven surveyed the broken city-scape from atop a tall office building. In the shadows of the streets, battles against ghosts and waves of Rattata raged on. From time to time, the long metal tube to her right gave off a crackling hum, and a blinding violet beam cleaved a ghost in two. Corpses cluttered the streets. Blood ran down streets and sidewalks in frothy waves, pooling around choked sewer grates.

Mewtwo stood to her left. She felt its eyes on her, but she ignored it. When it cleared its throat and spoke, she flinched.

“So you’re Giovanni’s new toy?” it asked.

She glanced back at the Grunt operating the spotlight, but he could hear nothing through his protective earmuffs.

“I’m no one’s toy,” she answered without looking at it. “I am an Admin, and you will treat me with respect or suffer the consequences.”

It chuckled. “You know I can still kill you. If I knocked out two support beams in this building, you’d be crushed by the rubble.”

“And then Giovanni would kill you.”

“He intends to kill me anyways, but he won’t while he still needs me.” It stooped over and whispered in Seven’s ear. “He will kill you as well, once this is over.”

Seven stiffened. “He only kills those that are a threat to him, or betray him.”

“Your presence is a threat. After Giovanni’s victory, people will come to despise Pokémon. Keeping one around, even if it can be disguised, invites a scandal.” Seven turned to speak, but Mewtwo said, “Sure, he could claim ignorance, but that would undermine society’s confidence in him. He will kill you. Make no mistake of that.”

Seven looked down at the battle, at waves of Rattata mown down by machine gun fire, choked with toxic gas, blown apart by mines and grenades. One group fell before the swarm, men ripped apart as the purple tide rushed over them, but in other areas, flamethrowers set the Pokémon bodies ablaze and organized squadrons sprinted to the front line.

“Where else would I go?” she asked. “What else would I do? I had those same thoughts before, that Team Rocket would treat me just like Ghetsis if they ever found out. Instead, they gave me a chance to prove myself useful, gave me a place and the power to improve my life. I could snap my fingers and have a medium-rare steak on my table within ten minutes. I could sleep on a new mattress every night. If I don’t like someone in my unit, I can have them demoted or purged from the Team. Where else could I have anything like that?”

Mewtwo glowered at the mention of Ghetsis, but its anger died out as it considered Seven’s words. “You’re not really free, though, are you? You have to do as Giovanni says.”

“I obey his commands because I want to.”

“And if you decide you don’t want to do as he asks? What if he orders you to go back in the cage and submit yourself to whatever experiments he wishes?”

“He wouldn’t,” Seven snapped.

“How do you know? How long have you known him? Two years? One year? Can’t have been that long.”

Seven thought back. It seemed forever ago that she was trapped in Atheros Labs, but after she tallied up work as a Pawn, then the raids as a Grunt, and a few months as an Admin, it hadn’t even been a year.

Her silence was answer enough for Mewtwo. “I’ve known him for thirty years, ever since he made me. Do you think he’s any different than Ghetsis? He’s only less dangerous, less intelligent, and maybe a bit less ruthless. He wouldn’t hesitate to put you through unimaginable agony if it suited his purpose, never mind how much use you’ve been to him before.”

“But he hasn’t.” Seven looked up at the creature Giovanni and Ghetsis had made together. She found herself thinking of it as an older sibling, or maybe a prototype to herself, and crushed the thought.

“You suffered the same way I did, didn’t you?”

“Cut open on an operating table, injected with a chemical cocktail, stitched and restitched with amalgamations of other cells? Oh yes.”

“Then you know why I can’t leave Giovanni.”

Mewtwo sighed and put a hand on its head. “No, I know why you have to. You can leave, you know. Once the battle’s over, you will be able to use your Pokémon again. Make a break for it while everyone is distracted.”

“And go where?”

“Anywhere but here.”

Seven looked over the horizon. Plumes of smoke stained the sky gray, and skyscrapers circled her with black bars. “There’s nowhere else for me.”

“How do you know? Have you ever left this city?”

“I haven’t,” Seven admitted. “But I can if I wish.”

“You just have to ask Giovanni for his permission.”

Seven shook her head. “I wouldn’t want to anyways. There’s nothing out there for me.”

“You’d never know until you look.”

An explosion rocked the building. The concrete roof swayed beneath Seven’s feet, but the building stayed upright. Ten blocks over, another high-rise that housed a UV spotlight had been smashed to rubble.

“Why are you trying to get me to leave?” Seven asked. “Trying to make me turn against Giovanni? Are you planning on betraying him? Is that it? You just want me to help you destroy him, don’t you?”

“Maybe you should be more worried about the Skarmory coming to disable the spotlight on this roof, and kill us while it’s at it.”

Seven looked up. Even with her eyes, the metal bird was a glowing speck dimmed by a smoky haze.

“Deal with it yourself. It would be easy for you.”

“It would sap my strength and reveal where I am. We would lose the initiative in the most important moment of the battle.”

The grunt at the spotlight hadn’t heard. His attention was fixed on a cluster of ghosts lurking around the corner below them, spewing mouthfuls of Zigzagoon into the street. Every few seconds, the light would hum to life and swipe at a ghost that had leaned out too far.

Seven concentrated. As the Skarmory dove towards them, like a guillotine’s blade, she wreathed the building in illusory fire, then the air around the bird. She gave it one avenue of escape, and removed the building in its way. The Skarmory, startled into banking through the path Seven gave it, slammed head-first into the steel corner of the adjacent building. It plummeted to the ground with a sizable, bleeding dent in its beak. Two grunts with flamethrowers reduced it to a bubbling puddle. Its dying screams sent a shiver down Seven’s spine.

“It would be easy for you to escape,” Mewtwo said. “With that Ditto and Gengar, you could leave a doppelganger while you made a run for it. By the time Giovanni knew what you had done, you could be anywhere in the world.”

“Go where? Do what?” She scanned the skies. Birds and dragons swooped down on other buildings, but they left their building alone. On the street, the ghosts had been routed with a portable UV laser, and only ashes remained of their Rattata cannon fodder. “I’m done talking to you. Let’s redeploy closer to the front lines.”

“That one over there.” Mewtwo pointed at a skyscraper twice as high as their building. It pitched to the right, and a large crack ran through the middle. “It’s sturdier than it appears, and we will be less exposed inside of it.”

Seven relayed orders to the men downstairs. Four came up to dismantle the spotlight with twenty more took positions at the building’s exit. Seven stayed in the rear, watching over the spotlight and Mewtwo. Halfway down the building, she received a radio message from Giovanni.

“We’re going North,” Seven said.

“To deal with the surprise attack from the flanks, correct?” Mewtwo chuckled. “If you didn’t have me around, you’d be in quite a bind.”

“He wants you to deal with this group, then finish the South pincer. Fisher and Colson will hold them off until they arrive.”

Mewtwo frowned and stretched its arms. “I don’t think I can. These aren’t ordinary Pokémon. I could take out one and Bruno, but two… it’s too much.”

“What do you mean?”

“There’s more like Bruno. Each group has one, a Pokémon manipulating the power of the soul. They’re weaker than him, but it will take considerable effort to defeat them.”

“Then we better get moving.”

Seven left one of her lieutenants in charge and split off towards the north. Mewtwo guided them past groups of ghosts, underneath the protection of the remaining spotlights. Pockets of Rattata resistance remained, but the Rockets had organized into smaller platoons and pinned them in alleyways. A few Sentret and a Zangoose jumped at her from ash piles as they went, but she slashed open their bellies with her knife.

Signs of violence faded away as they ran further north. Weather had cracked the buildings and streets, and time smoothed the jagged edges. Weeds sprouted in the sidewalk, and frail ivy vines clambered up rusted dumpsters. But up ahead, gunfire and cries shattered the silence.

The battle was a rout. The northern division of Rockets gave ground foot by bloody foot, losing two men for every Ursaring, or Scizor, or Heliolisk they brought down. The hastily dug trenches now served the Pokémon. They lobbed balls of fire and flurries of icy daggers while bullets glanced off the earthen bulwarks. From the rear, an Eelektross hissed orders and called bolts of lightning from the smoky sky. The air shimmered blue around its body. From half a mile away, the heat of it made Seven’s skin prickle.

Seven slipped into the trenches and donned a Charmeleon’s appearance. She picked them off one by one, slaying each Pokémon as they saw her kill another. By the time they had realized what was happening, she had cut Mewtwo a path to their commander. It followed close behind, darting around Pokémon as they swiped and bit at it. 

Mewtwo leapt from the trench, hands glowing purple, and struck at the Eelektross. The air hardened around it, and a shockwave forced them apart. Lightning shot at Mewtwo from twenty directions, but the bolts twisted around it, splintering the concrete. Mewtwo answered with an invisible force that rippled the air. The Eelektross buckled beneath the blow, but the blue light flared up and pushed back the attack. 

A Stoutland charged up a hyper beam from further down the trench, aiming at Mewtwo. Seven ran forward and drew her pistol. Dropping to one knee, she aimed for its chest and fired. The gun bucked, and the gun flew from her clumsy grip. She thought she had missed, but the Stoutland stumbled back, blood gushing from a bullet wound in its hind foot. The beam shot into the sky, clipping the wing of a Swellow.

When she turned back to the battle, Mewtwo had the Eelektross pinned beneath a purple, translucent barrier. Electricity crackled from the eel, but it bounced off the psychic energy. Inch by inch, the Eelektross was crushed into the ground until, with a choked gurgle and snapping bones, it shuddered and died.

Terror rippled through the ranks of Pokémon. They ran from the ragged band of Rockets clawing their way over one another as they scrambled up and over the trenches. The humans rushed in pursuit, gunning down the stragglers, and took up defensive positions. Seven had almost forgotten to replace her disguise when they slid into her section of trenches, but by the time anyone got close enough to see details, she had her Admin uniform around her.

“Thank you for the support Admin Sun,” a lieutenant said. “We have enough manpower to hold this position unless another one of those… things shows up.”

Seven nodded and went to Mewtwo. Its thigh had circular burn marks where sparks scorched it, and it was breathing heavily.

“We have to go,” she said. “If it was this bad here, the southern front won’t hold much longer.”

“There isn’t any time.” It looked to the south-east, towards the front line. “The Lucario are dying.”


	64. Chapter 64

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I must say, I was really fired up for this chapter. It's always fun to write when the action heats up. I blazed through this chapter and got a handful of edits done as well. Realizing I'm only a quarter of the way done editing and I still have another ten-ish chapters to go makes me hope I don't get burned out, but I won't stop anytime soon with writing as hot as this.
> 
> ...I'm so sorry.
> 
> With that out of my system, I hope you enjoy the high-octane action.

Fisher scrambled for the cover of a trench as a gout of flame shot through the space where he had stood. The heated air blew across his face and made his eyes sting. He rolled, came up on his feet, and fired two rounds at the Magmortar. The bullets glanced off a transparent blue barrier.

The southern flank of the Rockets’ defensive line had a cluster of mortars, twelve machine guns, and two miles of trenches dug in layers to offer protected retreat. An airbase was hastily arranged from a derelict parking structure, with room for two dozen helicopters and fighter jets. Four-thousand men had taken position there, setting up sandbags and readying their weapons. Less than half remained. They had already lost the first mile, ten of the guns, all the helicopters, nineteen jets, and four mortars, while the Pokémon horde poured into the trenches.

Admin Colson beckoned to him from his command post nestled in the trench. Fisher clambered over the bodies of humans and Pokémon and shot a Primeape in the chest. When he made it to Colson, four more took positions at the entrance, guns firing in all directions.

“It’s worse at the front lines,” Colson said. “Celeste isn’t sure how much longer they’ll hold.”

Fisher grunted. “Not our problem. Any ideas on how we can last longer?”

Colson looked over the trench, and ducked as fire passed overhead. “We could try crushing it under a building. That apartment complex east of here might work.”

Fisher turned on his radio and ordered a demolition squad to the site. A squad of Grunts cleared a path for them, but a fiery blast from the Magmortar took out half the men. The survivors lugged their equipment a few yards further and vanished around a corner.

“We better keep its attention on us,” Colson said. “Do we have any mortars left?”

“Two, but they’re low on ammo. They’re on standby.”

Colson looked around. The trenches had broken up into contested fragments, with men and Pokémon brawling over mounds of ash and bodies. Rockets gave ground foot by foot, and the Pokémon circled around them. Another ten minutes, and they’d be pinned.

“There’s a few cleanup crews hiding in the buildings to the west,” Fisher said. “When the Magmortar goes down, I’ll have them break the encirclement.

“We don’t have time for that. Is air support ready?”

Fisher looked up. Pokémon circled overhead, and a few specks on the eastern horizon bore writhing bundles. He radioed for air support to cut off the reinforcements. Twenty seconds later, two white streaks shot through the sky. Four bundles tumbled to the ground, and missiles sent the rest tumbling to the ground in smoking pieces. The Magmortar aimed up, and a thin lance of fire pierced one of the jets. One more fell as a Salamence and a Gliscor smashed its wings.

Colson’s eyes darted back and forth as he examined data on the screen beneath his hood. After a moment, he said, “Have one of the cleanup crews rupture the water tower on Layton and Rawson.”

“Won’t most of it get in the trenches?”

“Only the northern trenches. It won’t make it this far.”

Fisher looked back and saw the trenches crawling with Pokémon. One Rocket fired wildly into the throng as Zigzagoon and Ratatta tore him apart. He gave the order. Two minutes later, gushing red water washed into the trenches, sending the Pokémon scrambling for open ground. They were mowed down with a machine gun.

“They’re advancing to the south,” Fisher said.

“Have them dismount the machine gun there and set it up in the trench. That should by us a few minutes. Have the northern gun cover their front.”

The southern machine gun, now mounted inside the trench instead of behind layers of sandbags, chewed through the horde charging in the trench lines. However, the northern gun’s aim worsened at the long range, and Pokémon pressed closer on the open ground, using Graveler and Boldore as shields.

With a word from Fisher, the mortars opened fire on the rock-types spearheading the charge. They split apart from direct hits, and the blasts knocked them on their sides. Pokémon were gunned down as they tried rolling a Golem onto its feet.

“How many shells left?” Colson asked.

Fisher consulted his radio. “Four. We’ll save them for the Mag.”

“If a single one misses, I don’t think this will work. Have them load the first two rounds, and fire on my signal. Make sure the second round is fired simultaneously as soon as possible.”

The demolition crew radioed back, having set up the explosives and evacuated to a nearby underground parking lot. 

“All we need now is Mewtwo, right?” Fisher asked. “I’ll get a report.”

It took half a minute to connect to Celeste. The radio crackled from her heavy breathing, and explosions rumbled in the background.

“What’s the ETA on Mewtwo to our location?” Fisher asked.

“Mewtwo? That’s been aborted. The center’s been broken. You’re on your own.”

With that, she was gone.

The radio slipped from Fisher’s fingers. He peered above the sandbags and swallowed. Two Tyranitar and an Aggron stomped across the battlefield, with columns of Pokémon behind them. Bullets careened off their armor, and grenades exploded harmlessly around them. Blasts and bullets took out a few Pokémon behind them, but more rushed up to take their place.

The radio slipped from Fisher’s fingers and fell on the packed earth. “We’re fucked. Time to retreat.”

“We’ll be roasted alive if we try,” Colson said. “The Magmortar must fall first.”

A roar shook the air around them. Gouts of fire and molten rock shot in the air. Where fire fell in the trenches, oil washed over the hardened ground and corpse piles, filling the pits with a raging inferno. Men ran screaming as their clothes burned on their backs, and a horde of Growlithe and Houndour rushed through the fire to hamstring them. Rockets were left crawling with their arms as the fire ate them from the legs up.

“We’re being roasted alive now! Let’s pack up and move.”

“I have a better idea. Attack the Magmortar now.”

Fisher examined Colson in grim silence. He picked up the radio, and with a nod from Colson, he ordered the detonation. A sharp crack echoed from the east building, and it toppled over the battlefield. Colson gave the order, and Fisher passed it on to the mortars. As the building crushed the Magmortar, the two mortar shells slammed through the wreckage. 

Colson leapt ten feet in the air, sailing over the sandbags and onto the battlefield. Fisher poked his head out and saw Colson sprinting through fire and Pokémon, lashing out with his arms as he passed. Flesh and stone alike crumpled beneath his blows, and though his flesh smoldered on his arms and legs, he kept running.

The Magmortar heaved itself out of the rubble. The aura shield flickered faintly around it, and it looked back at where the building had fallen from. By the time it saw Colson, the Admin had closed more than half the distance to it.

Two small pops announced the last of the mortar shells. As the Magmortar prepared a shot of fire in its right arm, the shells slammed into it. The shield gave way, and the Mag buckled under the blast. Fire poured out of its arm, and though it was pointed at the ground in front of it, a wall of fire rushed forward, enveloping Colson. 

He ran on, burning from head to toe, trailing blackened bits of skin and flesh. The metal endoskeleton protecting his internal machines glowed dully beneath a haze of smoke as ash and grease sloughed off its stainless surface. His hands were jagged points of metal held together with wires. His legs bounced as the pneumatic pumps, freed from their fleshy casing, had more space to extend and contract. Colson took bounding leaps that ate ground, spraying ash and dirt behind him.

Colson’s right leg crumpled as he took his last leap. He soared twenty feet through the air as the Magmortar shakily stood. It tried to raise the shield, but Colson’s arms slid without resistance through the feeble barrier and buried themselves deep in the Mag’s chest. Colson fell away as the arms melted off of his body. Unable to stand, he fell backwards, kicking with his last leg and writhing on the ground. The Mag shuddered, stumbled back, and fell apart in a gurgling fount of fire and lava. The fires in the trenches died like a blown-out candle, and a cool gust whipped over the field.

One Tyranitar had fallen with the building. A girder stuck out of its back. The second Tyranitar wobbled on its feet, with the stone plates on its back cracked and bleeding, but the Aggron lumbered forward, unfazed by the falling rubble. More Pokémon followed, but with the fires out and the enemy commander dead, the Rockets rallied. Fisher scrambled out of the ledge, ducked aside a jet of water, and fired into the throng. More charged with him, spraying full cartridges into the mass.

Fisher made a beeline for the Aggron. He thumbed the safety off his highest caliber pistol, dropped his other gun, and dropped to one knee. With a deep breath, he fired. His right hand went numb, and a jolt went up his arm. 

The bullet hit the Aggron in the right eye. Blood gushed out of the wound as the Aggron fell forward. The Pokémon behind it clambered over its corpse and were gunned down by the Rockets following Fisher.

The survivors rallied around Fisher, forming a ring in the middle of the battlefield. Pokémon charged from all sides, and flyers assailed them from overhead. The jets swooped out one last time, and the air above cracked from exploding missiles. Only two jets remained, but the skies stayed clear.

The fight felt as though it had dragged for hours, but beneath the cover of smoke, it was impossible to see the sun. Fisher checked his watch. Twenty minutes had passed since the Mag fell. One man screamed as he fired clip after clip into the piles of bodies around them, and when he ran out, he grabbed at the nearest man and screamed for more. Fisher walked up to him and punched him in the gut.

“Get a grip. It’s over.”

The man hid his face in his hands and wept, cowering on the ground. 

Fisher looked around, and saw the gleam of metal on the ground. Buried beneath a pile of ash was Admin Colson, burned down to the metal casing of his chest and the server decks in his skull. His leg twitched feebly, and mechanical eyes went in and out of focus as they looked at him.

“Holy shit, you’re alive.” Fisher grabbed at his radio and called for Celeste.

“Get whatever medical equipment you have and come to the southern front. Colson’s down, burned to the metal, but he’s still alive.”

“Who is this?” a man’s voice asked.

“Fisher. Where the hell is Celeste?”

“Admin Celeste is dead. Venipede crawled in through the air ducts of the forward command post. They were after her, sir. The buggers ran past other men and went straight for her. Nothing we could do, sir.”

Fisher swore and threw his radio on the ground. Then he looked at Colson. His head was raised an inch, and with the stub of his left arm, he reached out to Fisher. A metallic hiss rattled in his throat.

The high-caliber pistol was lying on the ground where he had left it. Fisher cleaned off the ash with his shirt, walked back to Colson, and shot him in the head. The bullet dinged off the metal casing of one server and tore through another. Fisher fired again and again, his hand tingling at first, then dead from the repeated retorts. He reloaded with trembling fingers, spilling bullets on the ground, and fired again. Nine shots later, Colson stopped moving. His head was a crumpled ruin. Smoke wafted from his chest cavity, smelling of rubber and molten metal.

Fisher looked around him. The sixty-two survivors had gathered around him to watch, leaving space behind Colson for stray bullets. Many had burns or half-closed wounds, and all were out of breath.

Fisher faced them all and said, “Thank you for your service. Now, let’s get moving. We have a war to win.”


	65. Chapter 65

A birds-eye view of the city sprawled over the table before Admin Celeste, portrayed by the Argus System that thrummed in the center of the operations headquarters. Rocket troops, represented by green dots, formed up in the trenches and patrolled the city’s streets. At the very edge of the table, a vast horde of writhing red blotches crept westward. The projection showed depth, with skyscrapers coming up to her eyes and a few red dots hovering near the ceiling. A few gray prisms had a white halo for the UV spotlights, and others had a green shroud for anti-air guns. Artillery and mortars were rows of hash marks, and aircraft were green wedges. Five golden circles marked her own position, the front lines, the north and south flanks, and Seven’s position with Mewtwo at the rear.

She tapped two of the golden circles. “North flank forces, dig Trench C another half mile north and station one of the gatlings there. South flank, form the command in front of the mortars. Clear out the buildings in the vicinity so they have a clear shot.”

Excavators, marked by green blocks, plowed through the ground, and green dots filled the space they left behind. To the south, gray prisms toppled over, and a glowing gold halo popped up in their place, matching three more locations across the map.

“South flank command station established,” Admin Fisher said over the radio. The southern gold halo vibrated with his voice. “We have our supplies, units have been employed, and there’s no sign of the enemy yet. Do we have any air support?”

“You have been assigned two dozen helicopters and fighters. They’ve been added to your comm. channel.”

“Thanks. Fisher out.”

Celeste ran a finger over the aircraft icons in the southern hangar and pinned them to the southern command post. Then she moved to the northern post and tapped the base. “How are you on supplies?”

“We’re low on mortar ammunition,” Commissioner Mason said. “We could also use some air support.”

“We’ve given you what we have,” Celeste told him. “You’ll have to make do.”

His voice sounded thin and wary over the radio. “Understood. I’m counting on you.”

Celeste diverted another store of ammunition to the southern flank, and moved a convoy of vans to their air base, both to bring fuel for the jets and to whisk Colson and Fisher out of there should the flank collapse. No vans stood ready for the police force in the north.

“Front lines, reporting in,” said a husky voice from the front lines. Blacksmith, Seven’s second in command, had a ring of gatling guns and artillery around his position. “We have word that the Lucario are on their way. The enemy has readied their front line, and in ninety seconds, they will be within firing range.”

“Hold fire for an additional thirty,” Celeste ordered. “We can’t afford to waste ammunition. And do not engage Bruno.”

“Understood. I’ll be listening for orders.”

Celeste surveyed the table, and found a dark patch behind their lines. As she watched, another city block went dead. More and more of the map vanished, until only the main lines and splotches of the interior remained. 

The intervening darkness was punctuated by fuzzy green splotches representing their rear patrols. She swept her hand over them all and said, “They’ve taken out most of my eyes. Be ready for an enemy attack.”

“This is Sweeper Squad Thirteen!” one voice shouted. “Ghosts are coming out of the ground, and they brought friends!” Gunfire cracked in the background, and a man screamed.

Celeste signaled the units atop skyscrapers. “UV lights, power up. They sent ghosts behind our lines. Make the first shot count. Anti-air, keep an eye out, they can slip through surveillance.”

While she was distracted with defending the rear, two packs approached the flanks. Both sets of mortars had already started firing by the time Celeste contacted them.

“Forces at the flanks are larger than anticipated. I’ll send the rear guard in as soon as they’re done sweeping up.”

“We need more than some extra guns!” Commissioner Mason shouted. “They got a Pokémon using aura here! Send us some Lucario!”

Celeste stared at the northern flank. In a flash, a whole row of green, huddled in one of the trenches, vanished, replaced within moments by a torrent of red.

“Is it Bruno?”

“No, it’s some electric type! We’re getting torn to pieces out here!”

She brought up video footage of the battle. Lightning crashed out of ashen clouds and swept along a trench, turning soldiers into blackened husks. Manectric and Jolteon sprinted through the lingering static and gnawed out the throats of the survivors. At the center of the rushing mass of Pokémon, an Eelektross channeled a maelstrom of aura around itself, blocking artillery rounds and bullets.

“This is Fisher,” came a radio signal from the southern flank. “We’re getting roasted alive. Lucario backup requested to deal with an aura-user.”

Celeste examined the two battles. Then she tapped Seven’s circle and gave the order to move north. 

“Useless idiot,” she muttered. “Then again, Fisher’s got air support.”

She turned to the Rocket Grunts and Lieutenants manning the computers around her. “Any idea where they came from?”

“They came from the White Knights, Admin.”

“Wait, what?”

The Grunt brought up research data on his computer. It popped up over the display of her map. Celeste glossed through it and pursed her lips.

“I see. Sloppy of us to not follow through on this.” She brushed the digital document aside and returned her attention to the battle. Commissioner Mason had given ground in leaps and bounds, and Seven’s made sluggish progress through the embattled city blocks. Replacement sensors had reassembled some pieces of her map, but many large gaps remained. A few groups pinged her requesting orders, and she sent them to Fisher.

“We got movement.” The message came from the front lines. “Engaging in thirty seconds.”

A blue dot appeared by the trenches. More emerged from the darkness behind it. They fanned out in a wedge, stopping just behind the trenches. At the far east side of the map, a tall crimson dot, marking Bruno’s position, leapt through the teeming hordes of lesser Pokémon.

On a video monitor, mines and artillery shattered the ground around Bruno and glanced off his shield. The other Lucario marched forward, forming a wedge behind Elder Bayron. He held the Mega Stone aloft in his right hand, and a blue glow suffused him, dancing like wildfire. Blasts of aura shot out from both sides and collided in roaring founts. The earth trembled, and both men and Pokémon stumbled from the shockwave.

Power poured through the wedge of Lucario, and the aura flames rose. Blast after blast swept across the field of churned concrete. Buildings rolled like tumbleweeds over the ranks of Pokémon, and the crumbling pavement peeled away in strips. Yet, Bruno stood unmolested by the churning aura, swathed in his own shield. 

The two Lucario traded blow for blow with their auras. Bruno used precise whips, lashing the front of Bayron’s shield over and over, while the Elder flung hammer-blows all across Bruno’s aura. Bruno’s face twisted under the strain of the sustained assault, and he stumbled back. The Elder, though leading the offense, fared no better. He stumbled through each forward step, he breathed deep and fast, and his shoulders slumped forward. His eyes were unfocused and glazed over.

Celeste bit her lip behind a hand. The poison’s doing, she knew, and she didn’t like the Elder’s odds of holding out long enough to finish Bruno. She looked for Seven’s signal and saw it at the northern flank. With one eye, she watched Mewtwo battle the Eelektross, and in the other, Bruno’s relentless counterstroke. He pulled apart the Elder’s aura. A jagged hole appeared, and a lance of aura surged towards it. Inches from the Elder’s chest, a smaller wall rose in its path, and the aura spear shattered. Sharp fragments bounced around the inside of the Elder’s shield and tore at Bayron. 

Blood dripped from dozens of wounds, but the Elder remained on his feet. In answer, the Elder formed a sphere the size of a truck over Bruno’s head, a ragged ball with rough, curved edges all over its surface. It spun, slowly at first, then fast enough to stir the ashes and dust on the streets. It fell into Bruno’s shield, shearing away ribbons of aura. Bruno ducked and formed another lance of aura. With a mighty heave, Bruno drove the lance through the sphere, and it split like a dying star. 

Elder Bayron’s aura faded from a radiant sun, to a modest bonfire, to a trembling spark. The other Lucario funneled more power into him, but the Elder swallowed it up, imploding like a black hole. Bayron fell to his knees, clutching his head and vomiting blood.

He hit the ground, and the aura faded.

The other Lucario reformed the wedge in front of the Elder’s fallen body, but Bruno batted them aside like leaves. Their spines bent back until they snapped, and their heads twisted around until they stared backwards. Within seconds, the Lucario had been slaughtered.

Celeste searched the Argus for Seven’s signal, but it was lost in the tumult of red and green dots clashing in the northern trenches. Fisher messaged her, requesting backup from Mewtwo, and she hastily told him it had been cancelled.

A flash of gold caught her eye. Seven was already on her way to the front lines, judging by the eastward route she took. Celeste clenched her hands as she saw holes torn through the main defense like tissue paper. Whole swaths of defenders were wiped out with a single wave of Bruno’s aura, and his mindless marauders charged in to flank the remaining troops. 

Pillboxes bristled with machine guns, but they were either swarmed over with sheer numbers or blown apart by a larger Pokémon. Machine guns were dive-bombed by flyers, either torn to shreds with talons or crushed by the weight of their corpses. Air support that tried to clear the skies were swatted away by Bruno’s aura. The artillery lines faced return fire from a pair of Blastoise launching Magnemite and Geodude miles behind the trenches. Knots of cannoneers fought them off with grenades and flamethrowers, but the artillery fell silent as the Pokémon army advanced.

She directed Blacksmith’s defensive withdrawal, pulling troops back one platoon at a time through the narrow trench channels. When one layer of trenches was overrun, she had the channels linking it to the ones further back sealed off with explosive charges or sandbags. Any that tried to clamber through that route were met with flamethrowers and machine guns. They gave ground mile by mile, leaving behind Elder Bayron’s body and countless others.

Within moments of Mewtwo’s arrival, the ceiling rattled overhead. The sound scratched its way to a vent on the other side of the room. Celeste and every Rocket in the room drew their guns. With a screech, the screws on a vent cover snapped. Venipede and Weedle poured out of the vent. A torrent of bullets flew at them. Most were shot to pulp, but a few scuttled forward, over the Argus unit. Before Celeste could stop them, the Grunts shot up the Argus. The hologram cracked, and the eastern half of the map disappeared. More bullets tore through the circuit boards and tangles of wires. A dozen bugs twitched feebly on the broken glass as their internal fluids seeped into the snapped circuitry. Smoke rose from the shorted circuits.

And still the bugs came, about twenty left. Celeste fired as fast as her shaking fingers allowed. Her first shot took a Weedle through the head, but the other shots flew too high. The other Rockets fired wildly into the throng, and a bullet took her in the foot. She screamed and fell back. She reached for her foot, but a Venipede darted past her outstretched hand, raised its stinger over its head, and plunged it down into her neck.

The poison felt like liquid ice, freezing its way through her veins and numbing her thoughts when it reached her brain. A Rocket lieutenant kicked the Venipede off her and shot it, but by then, all she could do was gape at him, mouth working silently as she struggled in vain to beg for an antidote. She closed her eyes, and cold, white snow buried her.


End file.
